Alanza: Part II
by Pixel-0
Summary: Part II: When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am. Mandatory for you have read Part I in order to understand this part.
1. Too Trapped

One week. One miserable week. The week of the damned, in which I could no longer hide, no longer deny who and what I really was. Everything was openly exposed, but my world was still-as Case had said in his ever fateful words-intact, for I had not felt abominable anguish-despite the searing pain that flowed through my body continually. Yet, I didn't know how much longer I could vainly clasp to the image that my life would stay together without the pieces falling through my fingers; I would die trying to keep it together though. I would die like the hero my parents had raised me to be.

I barely remembered what happened after the ambush that Lydecker had bestowed upon my friends and I many hours ago. My mind, when it wasn't throbbing with a severe migraine, forced recollections into my grasp of a bleeding James and doctors bending over me with long needles, but, all in all, forming a clear picture remained an almost impossible task.

I had been placed in what appeared to be solitary confinement-a room in which the walls were glass. One way glass, I had realized after the third day, so that the doctors could look in on me, but I was left with only mirrors to magnify my pain. The ceiling consisted of harsh fluorescent lights, in which allowed no shadows to cower in corners, and also blinded me on a regular basis. 

As for myself, I had never felt such restraints as I had when in that Manticore room. Lying on a table that was tilted at a rough seventy degrees to the floor, I was spread eagle across it; my feet were bound at the bottom, while my arms extended directly from my sides and face stared upward into the torturing fireballs. Unable to move my head, due to a thick leather strap across my neck, I was forced to examine my surroundings by revolving my eyes only-which caused for extreme oculus pain and even greater agony on my brain from the mere strain. Therefore, my observations of my surroundings were slightly assumed on my part because I was unable to see the facts for myself, and relied solely on the continuous mirrors to assist me with my visual coverage of my situation.

There was an I.V. needle in my left hand, which gave me the only form of nutrition I had had for over seven days, thereby causing my skin to pucker and shrink against my quickly fading body. Starvation was not something I dealt well with, and all I wanted was to sit down to a happy meal of juice and jelly. Of course, that would not be so.

My right index finger wore a cuff to monitor my pulse, creating an irritating constant beeping that, for the first few days, caused horrific flashbacks of Mom's near death experience, then eventually faded into mere background noise by the time the sixth day rolled around. Sometimes, when I was extremely bored, I would wiggle the finger around so that the tempo would increase as I tried to create some kind of music for my bland and yet all around frantic predicament at the time.

With the mirrors to help me, I was able to see that my clothing was rather limited. I wore a pair of flesh colored shorts that clung to my body and rose barely above my swollen kneecaps, along with something that appeared to be a tube top, with the features of the stretchy and pale-colored pants. All of the articles of spandex disgusted me, knowing that I was constantly being watched by doctors who were perverse enough in poisoning children and were probably jerking off just by watching a teenage girl in skimpy clothing, laid out for their manhandling pleasure.

I had been able to count the days that passed because, at night, the lights would shut off, and I would attempt to sleep. After awhile, though, the lights remained on for twenty-four hours in an ever vigilant attempt to push me towards the brink of insanity. Still, with my internal clock insisting on sleep for certain periods, I was able to discern when night was supposed to come and go, thereby clueing me in as to how many days had gone by.

For the first couple days in my confinement I had done nothing but scream. I had bellowed and cried, still ultimately strapped down to the table, but refusing to give up. I cried out obscenities that rivaled the veteran truck driver, and psychotic pleas that became worse than a patient's in a mental hospital after I had ceased communicating in the English language. I screamed for Mom. I screamed for Dad. I even screamed-and cursed-James for all that he had done and failed to do. Yet, my vocal outbursts obviously didn't appeal to the doctors who held me hostage. I had somehow fallen asleep-probably by sedatives in my I.V.-and reawoke only to find that a thick plastic tube had been forced across my mouth, plastering my head even more savagely against the cold metal bed I laid upon. I was still able to make guttural sounds, but it did little good when my throat became so raw that my own saliva stung. That, in time, eventually disappeared as my body water level dropped, and I was left thirsting and starving.

I hadn't talked to a single human being in over a week. I hadn't seen any of my family or friends in over a week. In seven days, I had been brought down from a free adolescent human to an imprisoned animal. Never before had I been so utterly alone, so utterly agonized, and so despaired that I wanted nothing more than to commit suicide, but was too trapped to do anything about it.


	2. Confident Colonel

When I had reawakened from a sleep that I had earlier assumed to be caused by my natural nightly needs, I found myself strapped down in a new, darker environment. The walls were a dull black but two large windows that may have not been symmetrical, still let early afternoon sunlight stream in, letting me observe my squalid surroundings. A doctor stood by the bottom of my feet, looking over a silver covered notebook, ever occasionally glancing up at me, then hastily looking away as if he would have his eyes ripped out for daring to meet my estranged eyes. My clothing had-to my great relief-been changed into a powder blue pair of pants and a long sleeved shirt. Although it wasn't the fashion style I was used to, it suited me much better than the pale strips of clothing I had been given earlier. Heavy bonds crisscrossed over my stomach and arms, which prohibited bodily movement, but allowed me to look around more than when I was in the bright room. 

Suddenly, off to my right, a heavy iron door opened, and Lydecker strode in, hands shoved deeply in his pockets. "All right, let's get to-" and as his eyes saw me, lying there on the table, he stopped, choked off by shock. "What the hell happened to her?" 

The doctor closed the notebook, letting it click shut with an irritated noise. "Her genetic makeup's bad."

"How in the world does her genetic makeup associate with such abnormal amounts of hair?"

Apparently, Lydecker had just seen me looking the way that I did when I didn't shave. The cat hair, now a reasonable long length of a good inch or so, covered my entire body-everything from eyelids to the tips of my toes-allowing only my eyes to be uncovered with its suffocating power.

"We did some DNA tests on her," the doctor replied, handing the silver notebook to Lydecker. "Looks like she's got an excess of feline DNA in her which contributes to the hair."

Roughly, Lydecker took the portfolio from the man, but didn't look at it. Angrily, he snorted. "What about the other X5s we've bred? None of their offspring had this kind of hair."

"The other X10s, I believe, were all created out of successful-natural-copulation. This one, though," the doctor said with a nod of his head towards me, "she was artificially inseminated and therefore altered before being implanted in 452."

Lydecker chewed on the corner of his lip. "I don't like my soldiers having this kind of hair though. Disgraceful. We'll have to do something about it because, otherwise, she'd have to shave it, and I'm not going to give her a razor."

"She's smart, and will naturally rebel."

"Too smart. Apparently, somebody trained her rather well when she was a child…You know who her parents are-don't you?"

The doctor nodded his shrew little head in affirmation. "Yes. 452 and 599. The X5s, that is."

"Precisely, which is all the more reason that I have to have her work with me."

"Psychoactives?" the doctor asked, arching a thin eyebrow. There were heavy bags under his eyes, indicating that he hadn't had much sleep in the past few days, and his hands quivered as they stroked his mostly bald head.

"Yes," Lydecker replied and turned away from him, coming closer to me. He smelled of Dad; obviously they had been in contact only moments before Lydecker had come to see me. 

Dad. Despite the fact I had usually only seen him less than once a month, my separation of one week had been almost unbearable. Briefly, I wondered what had been done with his watch after I was captured. My thoughts were interrupted by the doctor who continued talking with Lydecker as if I wasn't even there.

"I wouldn't recommend it. She's been on a thin diet of simple glucose-barely enough to stay alive-and has been in captivity for approximately 170 hours. Psychoactives will send her body into shock, possibly killing her."

"Apparently," Lydecker responded more vehemently with fire in his eyes, "you didn't hear me earlier: She has the genetic making to be one of the most powerful soldiers. I can't get another one like her if she turns against Manticore again."

"The X7s. You do have X7-599 and X7-452-"

"And they're afflicted with Progeria and are dying rapidly as we speak."

"452 was fine a week ago-"

"Like I said, they're both dying…damn disease sets in and they're gone. I can maybe salvage another couple embryos off of the both of them before they die. All I've got left is X10-416-who I can still use-X5-599 and X5-452 and her," Lydecker said, motioning to me.

"What about her parents? Why not get another child from them instead of risk your chances of killing this one?"

"I've got backup embryos of 452 and 599's in the lab downstairs that'll be transferred to a surrogate mother later on. But I don't have another eighteen years to waste on training new soldiers."

My mind whirled, and, had I contained anything in my stomach, I probably would've thrown it up right then and there. Mom and Dad were being treated like nothing but animals used for breeding stock, and I was being viewed as the perfect soldier for Lydecker's asinine army. And, whatever psychoactives were, they didn't sound good. 

The doctor sighed, raising a thick syringe in the air, and tapped it gently on the side before inserting it into my arm, and injecting me with the acid. Liquid fire burned through my flesh with unimaginable pain, causing such agony that my entire body clenched, preventing me from breathing. I groaned in the back of my throat, twisting my wrists to the best of my ability, and shook on the metal table. Finally, a dull sensation spread over me, and my body went lax.

Leaning over me, the doctor adjusted some metal clips to spread my eyelids apart, then fixated the bright laser through my eye so that the torture would be just right. Right. Shit…It was Hell. I wanted so badly so fight back, but the idea of actually moving my being seemed far, far away and out of my clutches. The laser burned, and I tried my best to ignore it as I heard the voice of Lydecker speaking to me.

"Work with me, Alanza, and all of this will be over. I'll give you food. A place to sleep. Warm clothing." His voice was so warm and flowing, that I would have jumped right into his arms and said, "Take me, 'Deck, I'm yours" but words wouldn't come to me. Fortunately, though, he continued talking, "You can save the world. Stop the petty wars that kill innocent people every day. Just help me."

Gently, he lifted away the vocal restraint, and, for the first time that I would have been able to speak, I didn't. Lydecker looked down at me with seemingly sad eyes. "What do you say, Alanza? See your family? See James again?"

But, just as he had finished the word "again", a large globule of my putrid saliva hit him directly in the left eye. Saliva, which I had been slowly saving since the beginning of his manipulation with me, and stunk of morning breath because it had been collected in the very back of my throat from my first minute at Manticore. 

Bellowing, Lydecker swung a wide right arm and knocked the laser off my pupil, allowing me to see more freely than before. "I want her gone!" he cried to the alarmed doctor. "I want her shipped out on the next convoy of X10s!"

The doctor looked up, pursing his lips, a quivering pen raised to write down the orders Lydecker had given him. "Where to?"

Breathing in hissed gasps, Lydecker struggled to bring his newfound rage under control. Finally, he rested one hand on his hip and with the other, wiped the spit out of his eye. After all, to lose your temper was to lose control, thus showing your victim that you indeed could be pliable and able to bend for their needs. "Base 23. She'll do good their with the discipline system they've installed."

"All right," the doctor whispered, "I'll be sure to get her out as soon as I can."

Just before Lydecker turned to me, we met furious eyes. "If you think you've beaten me, don't even consider it." And with one mighty swing of his aged arm, the door slammed closed, leaving me, once again more alone then ever, but filled with the awesome sensation that I had infuriated the always cool and confident colonel. 


	3. Nothing At All, Sir

If there were classes on the numerous kinds of torture and how to use them, Donald Lydecker must have graduated valedictorian. It wasn't merely that he had starved me for over a week, taken away everyone that I had ever cared about, shot a laser through my pupil, and drugged me on more than one occasion. He dealt to me the worse agony that I could imagine for myself: Placing the thing that I wanted most right in front of my fingers, but never allowing me to touch it. 

When I reawoke from my recent sedative experience, I found, to my utmost shock and amazement, that I was in a decent room, wearing fairly decent clothes. Positioned on a hard cot that was attached to a rusty wall, I was freed from my physical bonds, while wearing what appeared to be the typical uniform of the base that covered my now non-hairy skin. The outfit consisted of a pale gray sweatshirt, with a pair of black, white, and gray camouflage pants. My shoes were heavy military boots that eerily resembled an old pair of Dad's. 

Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the shock that came slamming into me next.

As I rolled off the cot onto my feet, I felt a cool breeze pass over my neck. Slightly dismayed because I expected my hair to protect the temporal skin, I reached around to pull my hair back in place as a heat barrier. But, as my fingers reached around the back of my neck, I could find no hair. Frantically, I ran my hands over my head to find that all of my tresses had been shaved to a soldier's military cut. A strangled sob of horror barely passed over my lips as I tried to feel for my usual brunette strands. Although I wasn't vain and felt that I needed to look like the prom queen, the fact that my head had been stripped alarmed me nonetheless. 

Screaming and horrified, I flew over to the heavy door that separated me from the outside world. "What the hell did you do to me?!" I yelled, my throat still bleeding with pain from earlier. "What the hell did you do?!" 

One of the guards who was standing out in the hall, looked up as I began my rant. "Shut up," he ordered harshly, pointing a direct finger at my face. Yet, he was ten feet away, and I wasn't afraid. Adrenaline, after all, can make you fear nothing, and I, unfortunately, had a lot of adrenaline pulsing through me at the time.

"You want me to shut up now?!" I screamed. "Well, what a new shock! First you kidnap me, then you shave me bald, _now _you want me to shut up? I don't think so!" 

Seeing that I didn't respond to a direct order, the guard proceeded to approach me, swinging his gun defiantly. Apparently, he wanted to make sure that I knew that he had a gun and would use it on me with no questions asked. At that moment, death was starting to look like a favor verses the squalid life I was currently living anyhow, so I pushed my luck nonetheless. 

"I said 'shut up'," the guard, who was a robust man with a couple days' worth of a facial hair shadow, hissed.

"Bite me."

"Do you not understand a direct order when you are given one, 415?" He was standing directly outside my cell now and had my hands been skinny enough to fit through the bars in the slot of the door, I would have throttled him into silence.

"I am not 415! I am Alanza. Alanza! Alanza! Alanza!" I screeched insanely, spit flying from my lips. In the back of my mind, in a place that laid untouched, I realized that I was acting no better than an immature child, but I refused to listen to that little voice of reason nonetheless. So, I slammed my body up against the door, trying to bust it down, yet knowing that it was pretty well impossible to complete such a stunt.

Just as the guard had raised his gun-or taser-to fire, a male voice was heard coming down the hallway: "Is that 415, sir?"

The guard froze, gun pointed directly at my face that peered through the crack in the door. Quizzically, his eyebrows narrowed as he nodded to the mystery man, turning his alcoholic eyes away from mine. "Have you been assigned to her?"

"Yes, sir. Director Lydecker has allowed me the opportunity to teach her the ways of Manticore due to my history of working with rogues." 

"You want me to hit her up with the taser before you enter?" the guard asked. "She's awful rebellious."

"Yes, sir, I have been briefed on the status of 415, but I do not feel that it is necessary for her to be sedated."

"All right, whatever," the soldier mumbled, turning away from me with a dirty look in my direction, and slowly, the door opened to reveal the mystery man that had inadvertently saved my life.

Still, when the door opened, revealing the person who had been "assigned" to me, I attacked. The door had barely been closed when I launched myself right into the air, pinning my teacher to the ground. Yet, the minute we hit the floor together, he brought his knees up, pushing me off of him, then knocking me over to the other side of the room in one smooth move. Obviously, he was a transgenic and had been trained for a long time, which aggravated me even more because I could never beat someone who had more experience in Manticore.

He stood up, brushing himself off and mumbling something about "new dirty clothes", then eyed me suspiciously as I laid on the floor in a crude push-up, staring at the floor with feral eyes. Shoving his hands casually into his pockets, he arched a fading blond eyebrow. "You must be 415, I assume," he stated as if we were simply talking about what a nice day it was outside. I could have killed him for being such a know-it-all when there really wasn't anything to know.

"My name is Alanza," I hissed through clenched teeth as I lifted my head to look up at him. Although he wasn't much taller than I was, he was definitely older with signs of forgotten beauty on his face. Had he been slightly younger and in the real world, I would have considered asking him out on a date.

"No, your designation number is X10-415, but you're called 415 for short," he explained.

Slowly I rose to my feet, keeping a wise distance away from him. "Where the hell am I?"

"No need for language," he grinned. "Have your tongue ripped out for those kinds of words to a superior ranking official."

"Would you be so kind as to tell me where I am?" I asked forcefully.

"Seattle. You're in the base that was destroyed about 20 years ago from a fire of a sort." He shrugged absentmindedly. "Whatever. Doesn't matter-does it, though?"

I froze, unable to speak, with the knowledge that home was right outside the iron walls, but still remained beyond my ever-grasping fingertips. Donald Lydecker was cruel. He had to have been, or else extremely stupid to put me so close to home. Valedictorian, he must have been, with Renfro as the saledictorian of Torture Class 101.

Shaking my head to clear it, I replied, "Seattle was my home."

The soldier's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "Ah, you've been out there."

"Out there is my home, thank you very much."

"This is your home. Not Seattle."

"What do you know?"

"I know that because of your mom, 452, who burned the place down 20 years ago, you're going to have to do some work."

"Lydecker destroyed his own damned building."

"No, Lydecker wouldn't have done something as foolish as that. And what was I saying about language, 415…?"

"Would you stop calling me that!" I screamed, my face burning.

"No, I won't, because I don't know what else to call you."

"You can call me Alanza."

"Not quite."

"All right then," I snapped, "what's your designation number? If I'm 415, who are you?"

He grinned smugly, revealing white teeth to rival Krit's, as he rocked back on his heels. "Call me X5-494."

Two days later, 494, who I had begun calling Alec due to his smart-aleckness, came to retrieve me from my holding cell. He had explained to me during his first visit that he was my C.O. of a unit of twelve X10s, and, although he would never cross Manticore's orders, he seemed trustworthy enough that I began to believe in some of the words he gave me. False promises they might have been, but considering that I had nothing-and no one-else to fall back on in my lone little world, I believed him nonetheless. 

Manticore had still refused to let me out of the cell for many days because I was, as Alec had put it to me from the words of the directors, "unstable and prone to violent mood swings that may bring about a cataclysmic reaction in the genetic sequences". When I asked him what that meant, he simply grinned his cocky grin, and replied, "Means that they think you might pop off if you get too much freedom."

I asked nothing more.

So, naturally, it came to me as a great surprise when Alec came for me later that week. I had been lying on my hard cot, thinking of Mom and Dad and how nice it would be to spend Christmas with them. By this time, I had lost track of the days, but the snow outside hinted at winter approaching. My birthday had to be coming as well.

"415-" he began in his usual formal tone of voice that he used when the guards were listening in.

Not bothering to get up and salute my commanding officer, I looked up at him from my reclined position and barely had enough energy to arch a weak eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"415, when you are addressed by a superior to yourself, you are to rise to your feet and salute properly."

"And if I don't?"

Alec paused, listening for the guards outside. Tracing his thoughts, I found that there weren't any more, yet he still continued on in his captain-like voice. "If you don't, you're going to loose your ranking position."

"Like I had one to begin with," I groaned, rolling over onto my side to face the metal wall, curling myself up into the fetal position.

Slowly, he sat down on the foot of the cot, watching me carefully. Although he may have been older than me, I had the sneaky suspicion that he found me attractive, which I was able to discern due to the fact I scanned his thoughts ever occasionally-a trait of mine that Manticore would never find out that about me. Yet, I believe we both realized that if he tried to pull anything, I'd smash his head in. Well, I'd try to smash his head in; he'd pin me before I even had time to pull back my swing. 

"Look, Alanza," he responded in a low undertone, knowing that if he was caught calling me "Alanza" it would have been death for us both, "I know that things aren't exactly plum for you here-"

"No duh," I shot back.

"But is it really all that bad? A roof over your head? Food in your stomach?"

"You think Manticore takes care of you out of the goodness of its heart?" I asked as I sat up to meet his watery blue eyes. My stomach ached for some decent food other than the products that Alec was allowed to feed me. Apparently, since he was my officer, he was in charge of my daily life. Either that, or he made himself in charge of my life.

He leaned back against the wall, cupping his hands lazily behind his blond head that had more hair than I did. "It's more than you could say about some people. Out there on the streets, you have to fight to survive, it's-"

"And what would you know about the streets, Alec?" I hissed, leaning in closer to him. "Have you ever been 'out there'? I've lived out in the real world for my entire life, and all of a sudden, I'm shoved back in a prison because I've got some fabulous DNA. Think about it, though. What if someone were to take you out of your home and put you where you didn't belong?"

"I'd adapt."

"Adapt, my ass."

"Speaking of asses, we're both going to get ours kicked, if we don't start moving," Alec said with a bored yawn as he rose to his feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought I told you already: Because of your mom who burned down the main frame of this place, you gotta work."

"Work?" I echoed in disbelief.

"Yeah. Work. As in actually do something instead of lying around like a piece of fat all day."

"No."

He narrowed his eyes quizzically. "No? Look, I understand the fact that you may not want to get your little hands dirty here, but-"

"But nothing," I shot back. "You can't make me work." It was stupid and childish. All I needed now was to stick out my lower lip and cross my arms, which was exactly what I planned on doing. Yet, just as I had begun to situate my arms, Alec grabbed me by the wrists and, in one violent motion, pulled me close enough to him for me to smell the scent of smoke and steel radiating off of his tanned skin.

"You don't think I can make you work, 415?" The fact that he had called me 415 verses Alanza was a bigger slap in the face than his transgenic hand could ever dish out.

"Try me."

"Really, I would love to, but I have orders to regroup you with your X10 convoy outside." And, with that, he literally began pulling me towards the closed door. 

"Did you say outside?" I echoed, as an opportunity dawned on me.

"If you had been listening, you would have caught it."

"You did, didn't you?"

"Perhaps," he mocked.

"Fine," I said, "I'll go with you."

Cocking his head and letting my wrist drop, he pointed a finger at me, "What exactly are you planning to do?"

"Nothing," I grinned, raising my hand in a proper Manticore salute as I righted myself to a pose that I assumed to be attention, "nothing at all, _sir._"


	4. Be Ready For Battle

The outside world was arctic and overly acidic, despite the fact I wore heavy gloves and a thick jacket. Piles of snow built around large chain link fences, and nothing but glittering white could be seen for miles onward. I realized that if I tried to escape, my tracks would be left for the Manticore guards to spot and follow; I would definitely need more training to elude the soldiers, which disappointed me. 

I stood with my small group of blank faced X10 comrades who seemed oblivious to the cold, while I shivered with chattering teeth as Alec gave us directions. Eventually, when I began rubbing furiously at my arms and stomping my feet to get warmer, he turned quickly towards me and asked if I needed to use the bathroom. Naturally, none of the brainwashed X10s understood the joke, but I could have slapped him upside the head nonetheless.

"All right, guys," Alec said, glancing behind him as another group of children soldiers marched past, "here's the deal: You have direct orders from command to work in a large pit to dig out the main base for the new Manticore building. All you have to do is dig. There should be shovels already in the dirt or around the pit. Nobody rests until we're done with our assignment. We got the far north north east corner. Any questions?"

"Yeah, what if we freeze to death?" I asked, pausing from blowing hot air into my gloves.

"Freeze to death, sir," he corrected me.

"What if we freeze to death, _sir_?" I shot back with an angry glare.

"Hold on, 415…The rest of you guys can head on down to the site and get to work. I'll be there in a minute to keep an eye on you. Soldiers…Ah-ttention. Right face. Forward march 72 paces," he ordered, and obediently, the other X10s began moving away from Alec and I. Once they were out of listening rage, he leaned in close to me, clutching the collar of my jacket and held up a warning finger. "You got one shot at this, got it? You screw this one up, it's right back to psyops, and you'll have the laser through your eye, and they'll brainwash you until you can't tell your head from your ass. This is the best shot at freedom you got, and they won't give you another. Trust me, there." His breath was coming out in warm clouds of steam, and it appeared, for a brief moment, that he actually seemed to care about me. Yet, I had been inside Manticore long enough to know not to jump into the closest person's arms. "Do you understand me, Alanza? Don't. Screw. This. Up."

"Sure, I understand. Besides," I shrugged, "how could I get in trouble while doing such shit labor?" Then, quickly, without waiting for direction from him, I followed my colleagues' footprints to the dig site.

There, I found a pit that was so enormously huge that our entire apartment building back in Seattle could have fit into it with room left over. Hundreds of gray suited soldiers were down in the dark dirt, digging with rapid action. Around the border, older X5s watched their units intently, checking to make sure that no mistakes were being made, while feral X7s marched with stupid pride.

I grabbed a miscellaneous shovel that was lying on the snow covered ground and slid down the embankment of the pit, which was approximately ten to fifteen feet high at the time being, and went to join the remainder of my group. Figuring that if I appeared to be working, I could plan my escape then and slip off while the rest of the X10s were working like chipmunks prepping for winter. I blew some hot air into my hands and positioned the shovel under a clod of dirt and began to reluctantly dig, silently cursing to myself at the idiocy of the task we were doing.

Just as I had gotten a fairly good-sized chunk of dirt out of the way, I heard a low whisper to my left: "Alanza, is that you?" Freezing so rapidly that the shovel became entangled in my paralyzed fingers, I turned in the direction of the voice, fearing that I had finally gone psychotic and was now schizophrenic.

But, when I turned, to my utmost shock and pleasure, I saw not a mental thief or a soldier who was playing fiendish tricks; I saw Case.

He was dressed in the same type of uniform I was, with his dark hair shaved to the identical type of military cut. His face was smeared with dirt, while fingers that bore no gloves were tinged blue with the stark coldness. Heavy black circles were encrusted under his eyes, and the skin sagged off of his skinny, malnourished cheeks. Yet, what disgusted me the most was that his eyes that I once remembered being so vivid and dark, were now pale and bland, killed by the Manticorians…Monsters.

"It's me, Case," I whispered, trying not to cry. After so long I had found him, and I was no longer alone. 

"It is you…I thought it was, but I couldn't be sure," he said, giving me a sad smile. Just as he was about to speak, an older stocky X5 pointed a thick finger down at us and told us to get back to work. Hesitantly, we began to prod the dirt once again, while continuing to talk in low murmurs out of the corners of our mouths.

"Where have you been?" I asked.

"Wyoming. Here. All around, I guess. Got shipped out with the convoy of X10s from three days ago."

"Me too." Pausing, I glanced up at the vulture like guards who weren't paying any attention to us, then back to Case. "Have you seen Max? Mom? Dad? _Anybody_?"

"I saw Zack back in Wyoming. He was just coming out of psyops and had the face of a damned madman. He had blood in the palms of his hands because he had made such tight fists to fight, and more coming out of his mouth where he had bit down on his lip. Lydecker was pissing and fuming that 'X5-599 won't say anything'. I was being taken back to my cell and couldn't even stop to say hi, and have a nice cup of coffee," he laughed cynically.

"You got a cell. How nice. I was kept under bonds for an entire week."

Case grimaced to the dirt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be…Have you seen James?"

"No, I haven't. After our ambush, I haven't seen anybody but Zack, like I said."

"Not even Max?"

"Not even Max," he repeated solemnly.

There was a lull in the conversation as we both held back the hugs and the tears that we wanted to give and let go of. All I wanted to do was tell him that he had been warning me for this day all along, and I now regretted not listening to his words of wisdom.

"Why do they do this to us?" I asked, glancing up at the gray sky, smeared with black smoke.

"What? Make us work out in the bitter cold?"

"Yeah."

"Discipline. Soldiers can't march without it, after all. How else do you get slaves to do you bidding? Discipline them and put them through hard labor."

"We're the only ones who feel the cold, you realize that, don't you?"

"Of course. That's why Manticore can get away with doing this. The others are far too brainwashed to feel anything. They don't hate, they don't cry, they wouldn't even breathe had they not had direct orders to do so. It's what years of stupidity does to a person-in or out of a cell."

"This is asinine," I mumbled, shaking my bald head.

"I know," Case whispered as he blew hot air into his trembling fingers. Seeing how cold he was, I pulled off my gloves and handed them to him.

"Here."

"Alanza, no, I-"

"Case, take them. Please."

Reluctantly, he did so and gently slipped the cheap acrylic gloves over his numbed fingers. "Thanks," he smiled.

"No problem."

"Look, Alanza," he began in such a low voice that I had to strain to hear him over the clinking of the shovels, "things aren't looking good down at my end of the hall."

"What do you mean?"

"People are disappearing-and not coming back. I hear screams in the middle of the night. Horror movie type screams right outside my door, and when I march out in the morning, there's blood there."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, feeling an instinctive chill vibrate up my spine.

"Be ready for battle."


	5. Watch Your Back

Quizzically, I stared back at Case and was immediately barked at by an X5. "You! 415! Get to work, now!" Gritting my teeth angrily, I resisted the urge to jump out of the pit and strangle that soldier who wasn't even my commander. After all, Alec would be blamed for my behavior, and I hated to see him punished because of my doing. So, I continued to work, tempting myself into casting a quick glance over at Case.

Suddenly, though, a stillness fell over the work area. Although it had been rather placid with only the sounds of the superiors muttering among one another and the clinking of shovels, everything drastically fell to a low pitch. The X5s and X7s ceased their communication, and even the tools stopped making so much noise. Case and I both lifted our heads, almost perking our ears to full alert, both the only ones who weren't oblivious to the change in the air.

Confused as to what was happening, I glanced upward to where some of the older X5s looked. There, walking around the perimeter edge were four men. One was wearing a construction outfit, compete with orange hard hat, two were in formal Manticore business suits with leather jackets, and the fourth was James. The two professionally dressed men were talking and pointing across the pit, while the construction man nodded, accepting everything they fed to him. Every once in awhile, James would give a weak nod and continue moving with the quad.

I tensed instinctively, feeling every tortured muscle in my body burn with indignant pain. He had put me here; he had brought me to this hellhole. But, above all, he was free, and I was not. Nothing had angered me so fully so quickly. I wanted to strangle him until the blood pooled around his pupils, and I wanted to kiss the life out of him as well.

Case, sensing my disturbance, glanced hesitantly over at me, keeping his voice safely low. "Alanza, don't you dare try anything. Turn your head and look the other way. It won't do anybody any good if you kill him." He was so calm, so undisturbed about the fact that our fellow traitor was standing right above us, not even noticing our pain. This infuriated me even further, which caused Case to whisper again, "Don't try anything."

But, as I had always done, I ignored his words of wisdom. I ignored them and went with my gut instinct. After all, you only have one life so you might as well live it the way you want to live it; listening to others won't get you anywhere in the cold, harsh world.

Throwing down my shovel, I flew into the air, flew high above the dirt wall that separated us, flew into the sky as every head turned on me. "No!" Case cried from below and began frantically scrambling up the side of the wall that I had covered with such ease. Immediately, the X7s swarmed over him-because he appeared to be "out of control"-and Case was down, forgotten in the dirt.

Still, I raged on. Every head, every transgenic pair of eyes, was focused on me, the rogue, the troublemaker, the killer of the justice of Manticore. The X7s, those that weren't pouncing on Case or attempting to keep the other X10s in line, had turned onto me. Moving on their powerful legs, they ran after me, attempting to hit me with their tasers. X5s bellowed in harsh voices, "Grab her!" Everything had fallen off their delicate little scale, and I was running through the pile of garbage.

Then, just as James turned around, I grabbed him roughly around the shoulders like a football jock on the last ten seconds, and rolled with him to the ground, throwing every ounce of energy into my attack. Since I was moving at such a rapid rate, I felt his body slam, back first, into the snow and skid for a little distance before stopping. Grabbing him savagely around the neck so that my thumbs were hooked around the edge of his jawbone, I pushed his head backwards into the snow, leaving him no choice but to stare blankly at me. 

"You put me here!" I screamed, my face on fire while the raging tears pooled in my eyes. I didn't want to cry then, not in front of him when I was at my weakest moment, so I tried to combat the tears with anger by screaming even more. "You put me here! You son of a bitch!" The wet droplets trickled down my face, freezing to my skin in the arctic atmosphere. "You think you can just do this to me?! How dare you just leave me here!" Just as I had opened my mouth to continue my ranting, a sharp pain shot through my back, and I arched backwards, growling like a maniac. James skittered out from underneath me, covered in wet snow, as he panted hoarsely and then burst into ragged coughs, trying to regain the air I had stolen from him.

Meanwhile, a couple of X7s had taken out electrical sticks and had shoved them into my back so that I jerked, on fire, and fell backwards into the snow, clawing for life. Although the electric shock hadn't been as severe as a taser's pain, I still writhed in the snow underneath them, barely able to breathe due to the jolt.

Suddenly, Alec burst through the group of X7s, bellowing, "Leave her alone! Leave her alone!" Hesitantly, the younger soldiers backed off, but not before casting irritated glances at Alec as he picked me up in his arms like Dad had done with me the night of my seizure attack. 

One of the larger male X5s, the same guy who had chewed Case and I out, stormed up to Alec and planted a finger in his chest. "Lydecker isn't going to be too happy about this, 494," he shot back.

"We'll see," Alec growled and, with me still in his arms, he turned to baffled James, who was standing alone by the perimeter fence, vomiting into the snow. "You must be James Lydecker," Alec said boredly with an indignant sigh.

James nodded, his face a mask of horror and shock. He glanced from Alec's hard expression to my own that shook with the electric tremors. 

"Well, James, let me tell you something: You got a good case of Romeo and Juliet on your hands, 'cause you see, you're the Romeo from the family that hates Juliet's family, and her family hates you. But, you, Romeo, may want to watch your back, 'cause, otherwise, Juliet's gonna kick your ass."


	6. Dumbly to the Ground

Alec and I walked down the hallway together-technically he did all the walking because I couldn't-barely noticed by the passing guards of whom Alec would tip his head professionally in their direction. Sign of respect, naturally, of the order and discipline that I had destroyed with my erratic motion that day. Finally, we reached my cell which opened upon Alec's presence, and, as soon as the door had closed behind us, he tossed me almost savagely to the ground and turned his back to me, muttering to himself.

My voice, which was returning to me, allowed me to whimper in pain as my already agonized body skidded across the floor. I didn't move, but laid silently on the ground, facing Alec's feet, with my hands gently cupped underneath my chin. For a moment, neither of us spoke until Alec crouched down in front of me and met me with his intense blue eyes.

"They're gonna kill you now." 

I didn't reply, but continued to stare blankly at him, my mind on full overload. James was alive and well. Case was alive and suffering. Dad may have been dead by this point, and the rest of my family's condition was unknown. And now, all Manticore wanted to do was kill me? That was all? Silently, with the speed of an alcoholic, I closed my eyes listlessly, only to open them again to Alec's perplexed face staring down at me.

"All right, they're probably not going to kill you," he said more to the crusty floor than me as he scratched the back of his head. "But it won't be pretty, I can tell you that much."

"Figured so," I muttered in a hoarse voice, then coughed weakly and repeated the phrase.

"You caused quite a stir out there…Never seen anything like it."

"Never seen a soldier think for themselves?"

"Of course. We all think for ourselves…_I_ think for myself."

"Really?" I asked, bemused. I wanted both to scream and cry into Case's arms because he was the only one that remained alive and sane in my family. Dad was broken into a million shattered pieces; Mom was missing; and James was the utmost enemy. Syl, Krit, Jace, Brin, and Max were all illusions for which I could only vainly grasp at. For the time being, even Alec was starting to seem appealing in the sense that he was a human of which I could trust to hold me when everything was falling down in piles around me. 

"Nobody controls me," Alec sneered with an indignant eye roll.

"That's what you don't understand," I whispered, rolling up onto my side so that we sat, facing each other. "They control you. If they didn't, you wouldn't be here, now would you? You'd be off doing what you pleased instead of babysitting me-right?"

Alec paused, absorbing the information with piqued humor. "Well, it's not like I'm living your shitty life. After all," he stated very matter-a-factly, "_I_ wasn't the one who rebelled like an animal instead of thinking logically as would have been proper, now was I?"

Having no appropriate comment, I looked away from him and at the floor by his black leather boots. 

"Look," Alec sighed, "I don't know what they're going to do to you, but you gotta stop this tough girl chick act. It's getting you nowhere fast."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Means that you better stop fighting or else your head is going to get smashed in by an X7 that's itching to take out a rogue transgenic. Got it?"

"I won't ever stop fighting, if that's what you're trying to get at."

"Didn't you ever hear it's better to, 'make love not war'?"

"And what exactly are you implying?" I asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Whatever you want me to imply," he began, as he rose to his feet. "Look, I've got to get back outside and check on my unit before they run away on me, too." He had just turned to leave, the door ready to open in anticipation when I called out:

"Alec?"

Slowly, he turned around, eyebrows pinched together in question. "Yeah?"

"Did you ever meet my parents?"

"Parents?" he echoed in an alien stupefied look.

"Yes. Max and Zack." Pausing, I swallowed harshly, hating what I was about to say. "599 and 452."

"Nope."

"Do you know where they are?"

"Probably back in Wyoming."

"Do you think I'll ever see them again?"

"Probably not." He looked at me quizzically as my face fell. "Why are you so worried about them anyhow?"

"Because they're my parents."

"So?" Finally, it occurred to me that Alec-the perfect cocky soldier-didn't understand what I was getting at. He had never had parents, and therefore couldn't comprehend the attachment I felt towards mine.

"I love them, Alec. They're one of the few people I have in this world."

"You got James," he responded sarcastically.

"Lot of good that's going to do me," I mumbled to the ceiling.

"What? Look, I've heard of in-laws from hell, but I do suppose that yours is probably a special case."

"We're not even engaged…we _weren't_ engaged."

"Yeah. Whatever…Anyhow, like I said, I've got to be heading out to-oh shit…"

Hearing his voice drop to icy pitches, I rose hesitantly to my feet. "What's wrong?"

"Storm troopers are on their way." And just as he said those final words, I was attacked from all sides by fierce looking soldiers who beat me to the ground with iron sticks, forcing me into submission. They cocked their heads oddly at each other, communicating in their ultra-sonic tongue that I was unable to understand. Remembering Alec's cruel words about not fighting because I would otherwise be looking like the Manticore animals I hated, I instead bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood so that the screams would stay contained. Finally, resting my eyes on Alec's freckled fair face, I was injected with a warm liquid and rolled dumbly to the ground, mentally lost.


	7. Really Funny Thing

"…want 416's taken…yes…store it back in Gillette. I don't need it here now…What? She's awake? Oh, yes, she's awake."

Coming towards me out of the shadows, Lydecker approached with stooped shoulders. There was still a dusting of snow, which was rapidly melting, across his silver hair, along with dark black circles smeared underneath his blue eyes, indicating an apparent lack of sleep. His hands were neatly crossed behind his back in a proper gentleman's stance, and he eyed me suspiciously, not saying anything since the pointless, "She's awake" line.

I was strapped down to a similar apparatus that resembled the psyops attempts back in Wyoming. Thick bonds, gag in the mouth, creepy doctor and Lydecker…Yep, I was definitely dodging flashbacks of that horrifying experience. No need to visit it again, but naturally, Lydecker had other plans. Slowly, I moved my pained eyes to look at him, wondering how long I had been unconscious.

We met distant eyes and neither of said nothing for a moment. Obviously, I was unable to speak, but I didn't even try to growl at him like a savage dog. Around the edges of his pupils were thin red fingers, indicating that somebody had been having a little bit too much to drink. Either that, or I was imagining that he was drunk, hoping for a weak edge over the king of torture. Finally, though, words were heard:

"Good evening, Alanza." He sighed heavily, running his hand across his face in exasperation. "I'm sure you had a rather interesting day…or so I heard."

Through my restraints, I gave no indication that I had even heard his facetious words that he gently tossed at me like a trainer tosses fish to a seal. The doctor didn't seem to hear Lydecker either; he was off in another corner, labeling liquid filled test tubes with the number "416" written on the side. It was just Lydecker and I, attempting to a heart to heart conversation. Technically, I suppose, I could have viewed him as my grandfather, considering that he was a trivial father figure to my parents. Yet, I wasn't ready to jump on his knee and start talking about when we were going to take our next fishing trip. 

"I don't want you to say anything," Lydecker mused to me, his voice soft and placid as he pulled up a swivel chair next to the table I laid upon. Confused as to why he would be stating such an obvious fact-I had a gag in my mouth, I couldn't say anything had I wanted to-I narrowed my dark eyebrows, watching him intently.

"Yes, I suppose you _can't _say anything, anyhow," Lydecker continued as if reading my mind. "But, I don't want you to even try with pathetic grunts and odd animal noises; I'm not in the mood for it." 

Are you ever? I wanted to ask. I didn't know you actually enjoyed hearing your "children" scream for pity when you've got them bonded better than prisoners on death row. Still, he continued his rambling.

"I heard that you ran into James this afternoon…must be hard, after all he's done for-and against-you…and me. I once asked him just how close you two were-long before all of this happened, mind you, - and he wouldn't tell me. Imagine. He wouldn't tell his own father if he truly loved his girlfriend. Yet," he sighed, "I suppose that you two have a lot to talk about…_if_ I were to let you talk, that is. Then again, why would I want to do that? James is finally getting his head where it needs to be. On Manticore and the projects here, of course, and you're starting to come around as well. 494 has been giving me regular updates, and you appear to be progressing quite nicely. But not nice enough. After today?" Lydecker shook his head, picking at some dead skin around a dried cuticle. "No, that, will not happen again. Believe me.

"You have to understand that you are the last pedestal that Manticore can grasp a foothold on. The X7s are dying…Yes, I know they appear to be strong and ever vigilant, but they're not. X7-599 and 452…the clones of your parents were both afflicted with Progeria. 599 is dead now, and 452 is extremely close. We have only embryos from the both of them, and I don't' even want to touch them because of the fear of spreading Progeria. Chain effect-you see? The other soldiers from X6s down-with the exception of the X7s-are weak…stupid, that is, because all they known all their life is 'yes, sir', 'no, sir'. They form a damn complex attack plan on their own because," he snorted, "they weren't 'ordered to'.

"Everything from before the X5s are far too deformed to do any good. But, the X5s are the perfect batch of soldiers. Yes, I know about the seizures, and the female heat cycles, and the trivial cases of Progeria, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that they can think intellectually for themselves…common sense and street skills is the best way to word it. Yet, the problem that comes into play is that they're old. Most are in their late thirties, early forties, just depends on the group. Now, that age may not be especially late in life, considering that most humans today live up to ninety, but it is old enough that I can't trust their agility in the work force and other bodily functions. I've got their embryos stocked up to last until the next world war, but it'll take a least a decade to build up enough of a work force that the Committee won't shut us down. Perhaps I could try to clone them, but that's exactly what I did with the X7s because they're basically X5 clones and look where that took me? Progeria?" He shook his head, almost sadly. "It's a cycle that I can't escape…or thought that I couldn't.

"I created you to be the perfect soldier. You have the makings to be so. Well, the cat hair isn't exactly the most appealing thing I've seen, but that can be fixed easily. You have to understand me. You are the only thing that can save Manticore now. Eighteen years old-prime age range of your life-extremely witty and clever, along with the physical characteristics and genetics that would make you a goddess here. "

Somehow, during his entire babbling process, the tube across my mouth had been removed, allowing me to speak freely. We met eyes, his betraying the knowledge that his life long dream's future rested within the blank palms of an erratic teenager, and mine giving away the sadness in the sense that I longed to see my family once again, but doubted I ever would. Finally, though, I spoke, letting words-instead of hash saliva-come forth.

"You speak of these great things that I am supposed to accomplish. For you. For Manticore. Even for dear old James. You tell me that I'm going to 'save' Manticore from its recession…by what? By being nothing but breeding stock? It's almost funny if I were to think about it long enough, which I am _not_ going to do. You want me to save Manticore because that's my destiny? Because I'm 'one of them'? Well, you see, 'Deck, that's the really funny thing about all of this: I'm not Manticore."


	8. Horrendous Jolt

Upon hearing my comment, Lydecker became utterly rigid for a moment, more vexed than horrified that his precious "Manticore Pedestal" would say such thing. Then, he laughed rather hoarsely, pushing himself away from me and went over to the doctor, chuckling cynically as he went. Either he had been drinking, or had gotten into something else because his laugh was not that of a sane person.

"That's the problem, then," Lydecker said more to the doctor than to me as he snapped his fingers, but staring off into space nonetheless.

"I'm not seeing any problem," I responded curtly.

"Did I ask you?"

"You didn't ask anyone anything to begin with," I quipped back, no longer primitively raging, but now almost amused at my present predicament. "Still, I'm going to give you my opinion anyway. After all, I am 'extremely witty and clever' with 'perfect physical characteristics'. Besides, you've met my parents. I'm sure they weren't exactly the most boring lumps to begin with and surely didn't agree with your 'training techniques'-if that's what torture and brainwashing really is in your vocabulary."

"Your father didn't, of course, but…well…let's just say he got what he deserved-"

"Which is what?" I snapped back, trying to contain the fury I didn't want to unleash. When it came to my family-including stubborn and aggravating Daddy Dearest-I could no longer remain as passive as I had been.

"Nothing. But, your mother certainly worked well with us."

"You lie."

"I do? You can't prove me wrong-can you?"

"Mom would never do something like that. She's not that way."

"She _wasn't_ that way," Lydecker corrected me. "She is now. And, also, she's not 'Mom' to you anymore, either. She's X5-452."

__

"No."

"For someone in your situation at the moment, you certainly are a cocky little snot."

"Like you wouldn't be?"

"I've had enough of this incessant babbling. Let's get to work," Lydecker told the doctor, who responded with a blunt head nod.

"Really? What kind of work?" I asked like an annoying two-year-old, knowing that pain would be on its way, and by babbling, I figured that maybe I could annoy 'Deck enough that he would just leave me alone completely.

"Work," Lydecker said, coming towards me, "that will start to get you thinking straight."

Just as I was about to protest, he shoved a thick piece of plastic into my mouth that curved around the outside edges of my teeth. Screaming in the back of my throat, I bucked on the table, but to no avail. On each end of the plastic piece, he connected circuits, which ran around the back of the headboard, trapping me ever so firmly so that I was unable to move my head in the slightest bit.

The doctor then pulled what appeared to be a TV screen down from the ceiling and began to connect miscellaneous electrical wires to the back. The monitor flashed white once, then died down to a snowy gray with only static as background. I watched intensely, confused as to why Lydecker would be giving me television to watch, when he wanted me to stay straight in line. All the adults I had ever talked to said that TV promoted the rotting of your mind, so I wasn't following how Lydecker planned to get me on his side this time.

Then, just like the other time, back in Wyoming, when brainwashing was attempted, my right eyelids were forced open and a laser was positioned in front of it. Wincing instinctively, I prayed that I could block my mind out to the pain. As much as I wanted to believe that I was immune to ordinary pain, I knew I wasn't.

The doctor glanced over to Lydecker, for affirmation to continue the procedure. Lydecker responded with a slow nod, and the doctor lifted his bored hand to turn on the laser switch. I pushed myself backwards into the headboard, trying to escape the pain that would come with or without my consent. 

As the doctor's hand began to turn the switch to let the laser burn my pupil, a door by which Lydecker had been standing when I had first seen him, opened. The doctor and Lydecker turned in the direction, while Lydecker swore under his breath, and the doctor removed his hand from the laser tube, relieving me of the pain for some time. If I could have, I would have breathed a sigh of relief. But, with the plastic in my mouth, I was definitely unable to do so.

Since the door opened into shadows, Lydecker was unable to see who had entered the torture room and approached with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he fumed. "I thought I gave strict orders for _no one_ to enter while I'm in here with a subject. Didn't you hear me, soldier?"

"Yes, I heard you," came the voice, which caused me to gag, "but, you see, I'm not quite a soldier, _Dad_."

Lydecker's face fell as James came into the light, and they met incredulous eyes. Either James didn't see me or didn't _want _to see me when both he and his father stood about six feet away from me, lying helpless. The doctor, seeing that his boss was busy, occupied himself with labeling more of the vials with "416". 

"What are you doing here?" Lydecker hissed quietly to James as if thinking that he could hide their conversation from me. They both had yet to know that I read minds, a fact, I was sure would cause a definite uproar in Manticore.

"There's been a problem with one of the X10s," James replied barely even blinking. 

"That's not your field. You are to be concerned with the construction, and the construction _only_. I don't want you meddling with the X-series."

"I wasn't," James snapped back, fire in his brown eyes. "But, I was out, with the construction team, and everyone was too busy-including your precious X7s that are supposed to do the reporting. They were too busy, that is, attacking the X10, while the X5s could only scream stupid directions because the whole place had gone to hell."

"Hadn't it already? Since 415 here-"

"Keep her out of this," James growled

"Touchy, still, aren't we?" Lydecker mocked. "I'm surprised you haven't tried anything yet. Yet, she is, after all, part of Manticore. You know that as well as I do."

"Back to the other X10-"

"Changing the subject? I'm guessing you don't want to stay to watch the brainwashing."

"-the X7s ripped him up pretty bad. He's in solitary confinement now, trying to be stabalized. His X5 commander is with him now and needs permission to start treating the wounds."

"Who?"

"X10-657."

"X5-656's son," Lydecker muttered to himself, and it was then that I realized, with a horrendous jolt, that X10-657 was no one else besides Case.


	9. Beneficial to my Future

Approximately two days later found me trapped back in my mundane cell, fed by Alec, the only person with whom I had had contact since the attempts at brainwashing earlier in the week. Since James had interrupted the process, Lydecker had basically said 'screw it', and I was shoved back into my cell, while he went off to examine Case. James, although he hadn't said anything to me-except a wistful glance in my direction-had at least been nice enough to save me from torture. Perhaps, I wondered, he had interrupted Lydecker on purpose, knowing what his father was doing. Perhaps. I had to remember that this was the same James who I had thrown in the snow and nearly killed.

I was starting to grow a thin layer of fuzz again, which caused both itching and aggravation on my part. Alec noticed my fervent annoyance and said that he would have to do something about that before I turned into a full-fledged feline anomaly. He obviously considered the hair humorous-I didn't. It was bad enough that I couldn't even shave, let alone that Alec gave _orders_ for me to be shaved. My freedom as a human being was dwindling rapidly, and was leaving me behind in its dusty bones.

It was late in the evening when Alec came to me with dinner after those many days of complete loneliness. I was sitting on the floor at the time, drawing pictures in the sparse dirt that had accumulated on the floor, and didn't even bother to look up as he entered, the door closing tightly behind him. By this point in my Manticore stay, the guards had given up trying to control me; they left everything to Alec and went off to busy themselves with other pitiful X-series. So, it was just Alec, me, and dinner.

"You hungry?" he asked, setting a flimsy white styrofoam container on my cot that adjoined the wall.

"Not particularly."

"You haven't eaten much all day. Or for the past few days, to be honest."

"So?"

"So, you'd better eat something before the trip."

"Trip?" I echoed apathetically, drawing an arch to form the swooping wheel of my motorcycle in the dirt. "Where to?"

"Eat your dinner, and I'll tell you."

"You seem awfully concerned about my nutritional habits."

"If you happen to faint from hunger, I just don't feel like carrying you again, like when you got attacked by the X7s."

"You enjoyed it, and you know it."

"The urge to see how far you'd bounce if I dropped you was tempting, I will admit."

"That's not what I meant," I replied, looking up at him with his hands shoved into his camouflage pants. "Anyhow," I continued, "I'm not hungry."

"You want to go back to high solitary confinement? I.V.? Straps? Bright lights?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "You don't eat, that's what's gonna happen."

Sighing heavily, I rose to my feet, brushing off the seat of my pants. "What is there?"

He turned towards my bed and bent over to open up the container. "Looks like a roll, some type of pasta, and an apple," he replied, giving it a sniff.

"The pasta here tastes like paper," I complained. "I've had it before."

"Had what before? Pasta? Or paper?"

"Did I ask you?"

"Of course not," he smirked as he watched me sit down, cross-legged on the cot, and begin to poke at the meal with a flimsy plastic fork. The pasta wasn't nearly as horrendous as I had assumed it to be, but still, it was worse than high school cafeteria food. Yet, under Alec's stare, I swallowed it down nonetheless. He stood against the wall, saying nothing, while I finished off the meal and began to start in on the apple. 

"You heard anything about James?" I finally asked, wiping my mouth off with the back of hand because I hadn't been given any napkins.

"I didn't know he was part of my problem."

"I just thought that you soldiers might exchange in some 'lunchroom gossip'," I replied, swallowing a chunk of the sweet apple.

Alec barked a hoarse laugh and plopped down next to me, definitely sticking to his duty of making sure I ate a good meal. "Gossip? Come on, Alanza, you said it yourself: None of us can think for ourselves."

"Then how did you happen to turn out so damn cocky?"

"They put me out in the 'real world' a lot. Solo missions-and before you say it, yes, they were assassinations, but that was my job-you see? I was out doing that for a couple years, living among ordinary people, and I also had to take common verbal usage."

"Which is what?"

"How to talk the talk."

"I see."

"Still, there's others around here with…personality, if that's what you want to call it. Not all of us are stupid robots."

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled through my chewing. Then, after swallowing, I asked, "What about the trip that you mentioned?"

"What trip?"

"The one that you said you wouldn't tell me about until I ate. And I have eaten, so tell me."

"Demanding, aren't we?"

"Yes _we_ are," I responded with an arced eyebrow.

"All right, I probably should wait until you receive orders from Lydecker or one of the other directors, but I'm going to tell you myself, since I am involved with this also: Since your little 'incident' in the digging procedure down at the base, the head honchos have decided that you're too 'dangerous' here. They don't want you running around, ruining new construction. Besides, with James here, over-seeing it all, they realized that having you two in a place where you can see each other is another bad idea."

"So what?" I asked.

"They've decided to ship you back to Wyoming. I guess they figured that since that's a bigger base, you'll be able to be contained easier. Besides, there's better technology there, so-I shouldn't be telling you this either-your friend, 657, or whatever his name is-"

"Case."

"Yeah, whatever. He'll probably be shipped back too-also with the issues pertaining to James. Apparently, the administration didn't think this one too well when they placed you guys with him around," Alec laughed, amused more at himself for some odd reason, than what he was actually talking about.

"And how are you involved in this?" I questioned, examining the remainder of my apple.

"I get shipped back too."

"What?"

"You heard me." He sighed in exasperation, wiping his hand through his bristled hair. "Believe me, I've been briefed on this a hundred times over, so I'm not making a mistake here. As your commanding officer, they want me to go with you-"

"What about the rest of the squad?"

"They'll easily adapt to a new leader. Directors feel that if they give _you_ a new leader, you'll begin the heavy rebellion stage again. They've got you to a point where you aren't quite so vicious."

I paused, absorbing the information as I cradled the core of the apple in between my fingers. Wyoming was where Mom and Dad where, possibly even the rest of my family. My heart flopped and twisted as I realized, that in a sick-twisted-sense, I was going home. 

Turning to Alec, I smiled, focusing in on his twinkling blue eyes. "Thanks," I replied.

"For what?"

"For telling me about this. It's made me happier than you could imagine."

"You're too sentimental," he laughed, but even as he said it, I could hear the squeak in his usually so perfected voice. Then, he looked at me, and said without any trace of joking that I had come to associate with him, "You got roll crumbs on your face."

"Where?" I asked, trying to feel for something on my skin.

"Right here," he replied as he pointed on his own face, mimicking where the pieces should be.

"I'm not feeling anything…"

"That's because it's right here," he responded, and with one gentle flick of his callused finger, he brushed the specks off my face. Looking up, I met his eyes, which caused him to look away and clear his throat. Then just as I had glanced towards the floor, slightly embarrassed, I felt warm air on my cheek. Looking up, Alec took me by surprise with a hot kiss that caused me to stiffen in both stunned silence and objection. Just as I was ready to push him away in protest, an impish voice in the back of my mind whispered, _"Use him, Alanza, make him think that you like him. He is your captain after all, and military favors are definitely something that you need now.."_

So, I, ignoring the fact that my apple had dropped to the floor, allowed myself to be pressed gently against the wall as Alec ran his fingers through my hair, completely oblivious, it seemed as to what he was really doing. Lifting my shaking hand, I wrapped it around the back of his head, tracing the muscles in his neck, causing him to smile through the kiss, as he prodded my mouth with his tongue. Hesitantly, I greeted him with my open lips, and I was almost sure I heard him groan in the back of his throat, acting in a very unnatural Alec way.

I had him.

And, it seemed, for the first time since I had entered Manticore, I had actually accomplished something that was beneficial to my future. 


	10. Chance to Live

It was beginning to seem that every time I rode in an aerial vehicle, that not long afterward, things would begin to go bad. To be specific, the trip to New York City resulted in a gang fight in the alley, and Dad's departure. The journey back home from NYC was when Case told me about September 11th and, upon arriving home, I had horrific flashbacks of a time with Dad, Mom, and Logan. The ride going out to Wyoming after James had told all, which made our pitiful group of teens borrow Logan's money in a vain plan to save our family, caused…well, I figure that one is pretty much self-explanatory. 

Still, I was helicopter bound for the Wyoming Manticore base, which was my place of birth-creation to be specific-and things once again, weren't looking good. Then again, things hadn't been looking good for a long time.

The helicopter was divided into two sections: the cockpit in which two pilots and a high-ranking director from Manticore sat, along with a prominent X7 male soldier. The X7 not only carried a taser, but a machine gun and a fancy type of hunting knife, and had only opened the door leading back to the cargo area was where I was once. In the rear of the helicopter, two benches, about six feet long, ran along both opposite walls, forming two parallel lines. And, amidst the boxes and a variety of shadowy packages, three lone figures were back in that freezing area, with teeth chattering and frozen fingers, but none daring to speak. Obviously, I was back there, crammed on a bench next to Alec, who, although he had offered to provide me with some extra "body heat", had not spoken about our kiss. More importantly, though, there was, on the opposite bench, lying sick and pale, in a daze-like state, was Case. 

At first I had been tempted to go over and sit with him, but Alec had pushed me back to my sitting position, saying nothing. When I had fought him, he had finally leaned over to me and whispered, "I'm supposed to be keeping you guys in line here."

"And you think I'm going to 'get out of line'?"

"Think about whose mouth this is coming from," he quipped back, and for the passing ten minutes, neither of us had said anything.

During those ten minutes, I had become overly anxious and began jiggling my leg. This act not only succeeded in amusing me, but annoying Alec as well. Finally, Alec, fed up with my childish behavior, groaned impatiently and, with a flick of his head in Case's direction, grunted, "Fine, go to 'im."

I was off the bench and airborne before Alec even had finished his sentence. Yet, when I came closer to Case, who was shivering violently, his eyes glazed over with pain, I approached with caution. After all, if I were to hurt him, I would have no one to blame but myself. So, I crouched down next to him, and gently shook his shoulder that wasn't lying on the bench, whispering his name. It took several times of urging him to consciousness before he blinked slowly and licked his cracked lips that were already bleeding from the dryness.

"Alanza…" he croaked, attempting a weak smile.

Immediately, hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I bit down on my lip, brushing the sadness away with the back of my hand. "Case."

"What are-" he paused as a ragged cough crept through his body and came out his dying lips. While his body shook with the physical tremors, I held onto his shoulders, forcing myself not to cry. Finally, the hacks subsided enough for Case to finish, "What are you doing here?"

"They're taking me back to the Wyoming base-with you. My captain says that they can help you there," I whispered, making sure that the X7 wouldn't hear us, and interrupt the fleeting moment Case and I shared. "They'll make you better. You'll live, Case, you'll live. You have to live," I urged, convincing myself more than him.

Case smiled, keeping his optimism alive for me as well, for he had always been able to handle hardships with much greater ease than I ever could. "I'll do my best, Alanza…Promise."

I eased myself up onto the bench so that his head laid tenderly in my lap, which caused some quizzical looks from Alec. Ignoring my captain, I reached for Case's hand, so that we linked fingers at his waist, ever joined, despite the unknowing future that would ultimately tear us apart. With my free hand, I gently combed my fingers through the stubble of hair that was left upon his freezing skull.

"What did they do to you?" I asked. "You were fine a few days ago…and now…"

"The X7s…got to me…" Case sighed, struggling to breathe. "Don't know what they did…but you can see what happened anyhow…"

"This is all my fault."

"No…"

"Yes. If I had just listened to you, then you wouldn't have been attacked. Case, they went after you with the thought that you had the strength of a normal transgenic. You're strong mentally, but physically…" I shook my head, forcing myself to turn away from his pain and suffering for a moment. "Case, you're no match for those monsters."

"Alanza, this was bound to happen eventually…I should have left James when I had the chance…back in college…Max and I just should have left…"

"You couldn't have done that either. This was what was going to happen, with or without James in our lives. We can't run from what we are, Case."

"_Who_…we are, you mean."

"Oh God," I whispered, lifting a hand to my mouth as I realized what I had just said. "They've started to get to me."

Case didn't reply, but sighed heavily instead as I met questioning eyes with Alec across the room. Finally, after a long, strained moment of silence, I asked, "Well, Case…?"

"Well, what?" he whispered.

My voice, which was choked with tears that I somehow managed to squeeze back so they wouldn't fall upon his head, allowed me to question, "Has the world broken?"

He sighed, and I thought I saw a smile play over his ripped lips. "For me, it has, but you, Alanza, you're still safe." And, as I kissed the top of his forehead, he squeezed my hand, giving me the ultimate reassurance in my haphazard world that I still did, indeed, have a chance to live.


	11. Words Were Cut Short

Upon landing in Wyoming, the three of us-the transgenics, that is-were separated, of course, for certainly they didn't want their "precious" head commander, Alec, running around with the rift-raft, Case and I. 

Case was hauled off by the impatient director, and didn't even have enough energy to put up a fight as he literally fell onto the dirt from weak muscles. The administrator angrily clutched Case by the back collar of his shirt, and, with some assistance from the helicopter pilots, picked him up and disappeared into a large building. Alec was allowed to wander freely and find his own cell to probably take a nap in. Either that, or he would find something to eat so that he would remain amused for some time. And I, of course, was seized by the X7-who I had the sense not to fight because I did value my brains _inside_ my head-and led down the hallways until I was tossed, alone and cold, in a rather large room. 

The area was approximately twenty feet square and was completely blank. There were multiple rows of darken lights above me, and I lay upon shiny tiled flooring. Overall, though, there wasn't anything else in the room. Only because of my nocturnal vision, was I able to see my hand in front of my face. Hushed voices floated around the outside of the room, moving and swaying, but never daring to show themselves. Finally, after several minutes of agitated waiting, the door opened, and the lights flickered on, causing the flooring to radiate even more in the new fluorescent illumination.

I was leaning against the far wall at the time and raised my hand to cover my eyes from the blinding rays. It wasn't until my eyes had rapidly adjusted that I could see the man in the doorway. Naturally, of course, it was no one else besides Lydecker, who stood with his hand resting on the light switch as an amused smile twisted on his face. 

"Good to see you, again," he commented, his voice echoing around the barren room. I said nothing, but simply turned my head away in disgust. After all, I had nothing to say to the man that had pretty much murdered my family and friends. Fighting seemed out of the question as well, for I didn't know any trick moves, and I had a sneaky suspicion that he wasn't alone. He was never alone. "All right, then," Lydecker continued as if I had actually responded. "I have someone I would like you to meet."

Then, with a swooping gesture on his part, another man entered the room, and Lydecker closed the door firmly behind him so that it locked with a satisfied click. My eyes narrowed, confused as to what was happening, and cautiously I walked the tiniest bit closer, although my arms still remained crossed defensively around my chest. 

Technically, I suppose, the person positioned next to 'Deck wasn't really a man. A boy, about my age, I assumed, stood rigid at Lydecker's right side, barely even moving his chest to breathe. He was slightly taller than I was, and he was built better than anyone I had ever seen. Beneath the standard gray shirt, his large muscles were well rounded from years of training, but his skin was pale from an apparent lack of sunlight. On top of his large head, dishwater blond hair swooped and arced, creating a perfected mass, and his brown eyes never blinked as they stared off into the invisible distance. On the back of his neck was a prominent barcode, indicating that he was, indeed, part of Manticore.

"Who is he?" I asked Lydecker, glancing from the older man to the younger one.

"This," Lydecker stated so proudly that I could have sworn his chest bulged out in arrogance, "is X10-416."

"This is the 416 I've been hearing so much about, huh? Interesting…but what's the point?"

"He is the child of X7-599 and X7-452-before they were afflicted with Progeria. A child that was created not long after your mother escaped with you as an unborn fetus back in '19. So, in a sense, he is your clone, 415, because his parents are your parents' clones, so it would only be assumed that their child is your clone."

"No," I hissed as the horrid realization swept over me that this teenager in front of me resembled Dad to engineered perfection. "No, _never_."

"I don't care if that's not what you want. It simply _is_. Now, 415, I want to see your fighting techniques. After all, your parents are certainly prominent specimens of Manticore technology, so you should be as well. You win, you gain freedom. You lose, I get what I want."

"What kind of deal is that?" I snapped as Lydecker gave a couple of fast action hand signals that I was unable to interpret. 416 nodded sharply, with a quick glance at Lydecker for affirmation, and began to advance upon me, his brown eyes never leaving my face. 

I scuttled to the opposite corner, my brain on fire as to what I planned to do. I couldn't beat this monster even if he was sick and dying. He had at least ten times more training than I did, and was so mechanical that his moves came as second nature. I was just an itch that needed to be scratched to him. Nothing more.

As he came closer, I backed further into the corner, just before dashing right, hoping that move would confuse him slightly. Yet, I was to be outdone as he sped towards me, body-slamming me into the wall, which caused me to drop like a crumpled piece of paper. He then proceeded to lift me off the floor by clutching the collar of my shirt. My head was spinning in erratic pain, and I was unable to focus as white blotches blurred my haphazard vision. Finally, as my feet lifted off the ground, held aloft by one powerful transgenic arm, I lashed outward, a faraway voice of Dad spurring me onward, while his nearly identical face stared me down. My left foot slammed into 416's rock iron stomach, while I brought my other knee up into his chin, splitting it into a mass of blood and tissue. 

416 barely even flinched. 

Snarling in unimaginable fury and frustration, I grabbed the sides of his head, ripping his long hair out in furious, jerking motions. Ultimately, in one mad moment, I took my nails-which had not been trimmed since I was kidnapped-and slashed them across the side of his perfected face. Immediately, harsh lines of red blood sprang forth, and he finally blinked, as if realizing that I had decided to fight back. Unfortunately, in one violent move, he literally threw me across the room, so that I landed at Lydecker's feet, dazed and unable to react rapidly, while 416 pounced upon me and brought my wrists behind my back in one furious fist, so that I could no longer fight. He jerked my head up by the stubbles of hair, which meant that I was forced to face Lydecker as pain burned through me.

"Good job, 415," Lydecker sneered at me. "And our deal was, that if he won, I would get what I wanted."

"You would anyway," I snapped back, trying to ignore the salty taste of blood in my mouth. "Besides, what the hell does he have to do with-" And, as 416's fist came smashing down into the side of my head, my words were cut short, and I toppled to the ground.


	12. Alanza, Dear, Congratulations

At first I didn't realize I was dreaming when I had been put under by 416's violent action, but after my hazy surroundings that I dreamt of left me feeling disillusioned and confused, I-after I had woken up-realized that I had been asleep. Flashbacks, of no particular order or preference, wove their way together to form a mad jumble of thoughts and patterns that whizzed around me.

__

"Who are you?" the black woman asked who answered the door… 

…"It's me, Max," Mom said. The lady's eyes widened. 

"Max?! It is you!" They hugged, and I was left standing outside of the closeness, awkward in my unknowing of what exactly was occurring. My mom stepped back, and the lady turned to me for the first time.

"And who's this, boo?"

"This is my daughter, Alanza," my mom said, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Hi," I said, extending a hand, politely. The lady accepted my hand and shook it warmly.

"Nice to meetcha, Alanza. Call me Original Cindy." 

"Here ya go," the bartender said, setting my drink down in front of me. 

"Thanks," I smiled. I sipped gingerly at my drink. It was bitter, but most alcoholic drinks were. As I was sitting there, sipping away, I didn't notice a man who had sat down beside me. It wasn't until he had received his drink, that I fully noticed him. 

"Hello," I said.

"Hi," he smiled back, revealing perfectly formed teeth. 

I removed my clammy hand from the side of my glass cup and wiped it on my pants before offering it to him. "Alanza," I told him. Having no friends in Seattle my own age, I figured it was time to start making some. Starting then.

"Alanza?" he repeated curiously. "It's pretty."

"Thanks."

He accepted my hand and shook it warmly. "I'm James." 

As I grabbed my coat off the stool I had been sitting at and paid the bartender, a lady passed by me. I blinked, shaking my head as a strange vibe passed through me. It was like the feeling when you know someone's behind you even though you can't see them. I had only felt the vibe before around my parents. Eventually, I learned to recognize and ignore it. But, with a stranger displaying this feeling, I had to question it… 

…Her clothes were rather worn, like she had gotten them from a second hand store. There were small moth holes, and the pants had an orange stain of some kind down the thigh. She reminded me slightly of a bag lady in her cheap clothing that was dirty and stained. Her life had been hard. The shoes on her feet were worn as well, showing that she had walked for many miles without stopping. She was a strong person, and I recognized it.

Her face was aged slightly, pained almost, like she had spent most of her life crying over some tragedy she couldn't escape. She had dark, ragged hair that fell down to her shoulders. I would've estimated that she was about my mom's age, older, most likely. One of her almond shaped eyes twitched nervously as she contemplated whether to answer me or push me away. She turned away and glanced at the door, ready to leave, perhaps. Extending a trembling hand, she smiled faintly, like I was the first person who had ever cared about her. I accepted her cold hand and shook it. 

"What's your name then?" I asked with a smile, trying to ease her into talking.

She paused and licked her lips before meeting me with haunting eyes. I nearly gasped out loud upon gazing into the bottomless pits she had for eyes. Something truly awful had happened to this girl, and she would never be able to escape. 

She answered with a voice hoarse and raspy, quivering with fear too. "Brin." 

__

… I heard a voice. "Hey, is that a dog or something?"

I looked up to see a girl standing in front of me, hands on hips. "What?" I questioned.

"Your bike," she said, pointing to my motorcycle. "Where's its leash?" 

Laughing quietly, I patted the leather seat of the bike. "I've taught it to heel."

"Really? I'm impressed," she replied with a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Then she laughed. "Sorry. I was just walkin' by and saw you sitting there with your bike. It was just kinda funny how you were sitting there like a dog owner while your faithful pet waited by your side."

I rose to my feet and looked at her closely. She was lightly tanned, natural though, not a typical fake tan. Her long dark hair hung in tiny braids that cascaded in a waterfall down her back. Slicked in silver eyeshadow, her deep brown eyes were still laughing even if she wasn't at the present time. 

She wore a pair of faded bib overalls that sagged down over her orange T-shirt, which proclaimed her love for an oldie rock band. Wearing a pair of worn sandals, her toes were brightly painted in alternating colors of orange and magenta. A pair of headphones looped around her neck, still quietly playing, as she held the CD player in her left hand…

…"By the way, what's your name? We've been sitting here chatting, and I don't even know who the heck you are!"

I grinned, feeding off of her exuberant vibe. "Alanza."

"Alanza? Hmm…sounds like all gypsy and stuff."

"It's not." 

"Stand for something?" she asked.

"Yeah, 'ready for battle'."  
"Going into the army? 'Be All You Can Be' remember," she recited.

"No, it was my mom's choice."

"Yeah, my mom named me after an old friend. It was like her sister or something. And get this, I've never even met this friend! How annoying is that?!" she exclaimed.

I laughed. "So what is it, then?"

She sighed, then rolled her eyes. "Don't laugh. It's kinda weird."

"Like mine isn't?"

"True." She shrugged. "It's Max."

The building was much nicer than ours was, and in better condition than I had hoped for. I wondered whom Mom was planning to see. A rich multimillionaire to solve all our problems? Hmm, that would be a nice change for once. 

We stopped in front of a neatly stained oak door, and Mom knocked sharply on it, before stepping back and waiting. I watched her closely, unsure what to say. From my previous experience, I learned that asking her anything was going to get me nowhere because she just ignored my questions. 

The door slowly opened, and there sat a man in a wheelchair. He wore gold-framed glasses, and his golden brown hair was showing traces of silver. Quizzically, he looked up at the both of us, studying. Then it clicked. He smiled broadly, opening the door all the way. "Max!" he cried, happy to see her. 

She went over to him, hugged him muttering something about "good to see you, too" before releasing him and turning to me, resting her hand possessively on my shoulder. 

"This is my daughter Alanza."

He smiled and extended his hand to me, which I accepted. "And I'm Logan Cale." 

__

Dad was up on the rooftop, looking down on the city. He'd go into these moods, (usually after a fight), pretending that he really didn't care, when we all knew that he did.

After climbing up the stairs quietly, so as to not wake any neighbors, I arrived on the rooftop. The air was colder than I remembered it being when I dropped Max off. But, as expected, Dad was the only one up there.

He was leaning on the thick cement barrier around the edge of the roof, casually sipping beer while staring out at the brightly-lit city below. Shivering from the chilly air, I strolled up to him, resting my elbows on the freezing cold cement wall. 

Dad sighed beside me, creating puffs of steam around his mouth. 

"What do you wish for?" he asked me suddenly, his voice hollow and far away.

"Huh?"

"What do you wish for?" he repeated.

I sighed, unsure of what to say. There were a million things I wished for, but knew I would never get. Being a normal human, having normal parents, that the world was a better place, that the pulse had never happened…the list was endless. "I don't know," I admitted.

He turned to look at me from his crouched height below my full, erect height. His eyes were glazed over, like he had had too much to drink, but they still portrayed that proud look of his. Cocking an eyebrow, he smiled faintly, then slowly turned back to the panoramic view below.

"I was in Phoenix a couple weeks ago," he began and took a sip from the bottle. "While I was there, I heard about this really bad car crash. I mean, really bad. Apparently, some guy had gotten over in the wrong lane and hit somebody else head-on, causing them both to spin into a nearby ditch full of water-"

"What does this have to do with a wish?" I asked him.

"I'm getting to that.

"Anyhow, I was in the area at the time, only about a half a mile from where it happened. So, I went over to investigate, just for the hell of it-y'know? Both of the people were dead from head injuries. One of them was a girl, not far off from your age. And the other? I didn't get his whole name, but later found out that it was an old guy with the name D. Lydecker."

I froze, not sure of what to say. My mouth suddenly felt very dry and pasty, like someone had swabbed it out with a cloth. I swallowed before asking, "And your wish?"

"I know it's cruel, but sometimes I wish I could've been the one to kill the bastard," he replied with a hoarse laugh as he took another swig of the beer.

Off to my right, at another table right next to our booth, I noticed a rather distinguished looking couple being seated.

Instantly, I received the same vibe off of them that Brin had had, and I elbowed Dad, harder than I intended. I couldn't help the fact that I didn't know my own strength and could hurt people unintentionally. 

"Ow, what was that for?" Dad asked, rubbing at his shoulder where my elbow had smashed into him. 

"Sorry, but those people, check 'em out."

"So?" 

"They got a funny vibe."

"That's nice," Dad muttered and shoved another forkful of waffle and egg into his mouth. "Probably too much time in the tanning salon." 

"No!" I hissed. "They're like us."

"Bull-shit."

"Would you just go over there and talk to them, already?"

"Why don't you?" he retorted.  
I rolled my eyes and said nothing more, simply stabbed violently at the pancake. Dad got up and, after the couple had ordered, he strolled over to them and pulled out an extra chair.

He talked to them before I heard joyous cries and the lady leaned over and hugged him. Watching them all for a moment, I headed on over and stood beside the three of them, looking down.

Dad, noticing me, extended a hand towards the people. "Alanza, meet Krit and Syl." 

_"Everything changes," Mom stated. "So, no, this isn't a complete reunion. We need Brin here, too."_

"And Jace," Dad said.

"Max Jr., too," Krit replied.

"Maybe Case is still around, as well," Syl told them. "Last I heard, Charlie and he headed for Europe to get away from everything."

"Wouldn't surprise me any," Mom answered. "I just wish everyone could have been here." Everyone, of course, meant those that had died in the fire twenty years ago, and those that had never even tasted such a freedom-Jack, Eva, and the rest. 

"They are_ here," Dad stated, surprisingly putting faith in something that he was unable to witness. "Even if we can't see them."_

"Ok, you two," Syl said to Mom and Dad. "Alanza should be included in the family reunion too. I mean, what's a reunion without some kids?"

"I'm not a kid, though," I protested.

Dad laughed. "All that's missing here is Lydecker. The man who created us all."

"Where is he, anyhow?" Krit asked.

"Dead," Dad responded.

"Dead?" Syl echoed hopefully.

"As far as I know, he is."

Mom raised her coffee mug as if in a toast. "Well, then, here's to the man who started it all and couldn't be here to relish in the finale of his creations."

They all clinked mugs and took a drink, as most people do when toasting one another. 

Standing up and hauling my case over to the opposite side of the couch, I instinctively shivered as goosebumps prickled over my skin. I though, must have been the only one who felt the cold breeze sweep through the apartment, for the rest of the adults continued their conversation. Gazing out into the night, I saw that the moon was full with heavy clouds gathered around it as a chill ran up my spine. And, I wondered if Mom had spoken far too soon. 

We rolled out our sleeping bags so that we were scattered around our camp area. Next to me, Max slept peacefully with a trickle of saliva forming at her left cheek while James snored lightly. Max's radio was still playing quietly.

I rose from my sleeping bag to turn it off when I saw Case sitting by the fire, his hands tucked up underneath his chin in an almost thoughtful manner with his back towards me. Forgetting about Max's radio, I walked over beside him and sat down on the massive log.

"Can't sleep?" I asked him, watching his golden face illuminated in the flames.

"Nope." 

"Same here." He was wearing his swimming trunks with the shirt that he had arrived in. I had changed back into my regular clothes due to the night chill. "Case?"

"Hmm?"  
"Can I ask you a personal question?"  
"Go ahead," he replied, still staring into the fire.

"Are you-don't think I'm crazy asking this-are you part X5?"

Slowly, he turned to look at me and studied my face for any trace of sarcasm or joking. When he found none, he answered a very solemn, "Yes."……"Look, Alanza, if you ever want to get a hold of me or anything, I'll be there in a heartbeat. If things ever get crazy on you, that is."…

The CD sang on though and I couldn't block it out this time. "And I don't want the world to see me/'Cause I don't think that they'd understand/When everything's made to be broken/I just want you to know who I am."

"Strange song," Case remarked.

"That's because it's us…Crazy rock stars."

"It's far too true. When everything breaks, the world will_ know who you are."_

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, feeling a shiver down my spine.

"You'll figure it out, eventually." He rose to his feet and stretched. "I'd better get to bed."…

"You know that Lydecker is dead don't you? That means we're finally free of being chased around the globe," I told him, assuming that since he had been over in Europe he wouldn't have heard of Lydecker's fortunate death.

He waited before answering me, and I was unable to see his face in the shadow streaked night, "Alanza," he whispered gravely as if there were people in the forest listening in on us, "the evil king is a master of disguise."

I cupped my face in my hands as the awesome truth began pour down on me. Donald Lydecker was real, and he had my parents. They could die, while I was left alone with a man that I no longer knew.

James, seeing that I was obviously distressed, asked me what was wrong.

"What do you think is wrong?" I replied, refusing to look at him.

"I know that I gave you a lot of information, but-"

"James," I whispered, lifting my eyes to look at him beside me, "I don't even know who I am anymore. Am I Alanza, or X10-415? Are my parents Max and Zack or X5-452 and X5-599? My life, as far as I know it, has been wiped away completely."

He smiled faintly and moved around in front of me so that we were facing each other, still sitting on his floor. Outside, the sky was dark and I catch a glimmer of falling snowflakes. Barely into December and already there was snow. Still, I ignored it, wondering what James was up to.

"Alanza," he said, wiping back a strand of my hair, "I know who you are." He paused, as if admiring me for whatever reason. "You're better than all those other people out there, and it's not because you were made to be…it's because you choose to be."

Slowly, I rubbed at my eyes, as the real room swayed around me. I was lying on a cot in an unfamiliar room, since I was in Wyoming instead of Seattle. Overall though, the cell didn't look much different than my other one, and I assumed it best not to push the issue of asking for an interior decorator. 

I had just begun to pull myself up to a sitting position, when a sharp pain spliced through my middle. Wincing, I accidentally let an involuntary squeak of pain escape my parched lips, and I laid back down, wondering what was wrong with my body now. It was at that time, I noticed that my bodily hair had been shaved, leaving me to wonder who or what had gotten rid of it. Yet, the loss of hair didn't disturb me as fully as did the agony in my abdomen. So, beginning the curious person I was, I lifted up my shirt at the very bottom to inspect for possible bruises from the 416 attack. Just as I had begun to do so, Alec entered the room. Sharply, I pulled the shirt down, which caused a quizzical look from him and a furious glare from me. 

"Something wrong?" he asked, closing the non-automatic door behind him. 

"Nothing that you have to be concerned about," I snapped, irritated with him. I wasn't in the mood for his cocky smiles and laughs. He had all the freedom he could handle, while I was treated like nothing more than a worthless guinea pig. And, if he expected me to be just as happy and bubbly, well, then, he had another thing coming.

Alec raised his hands up in mock protest. "Whoa. Sorry. I didn't ask to get my head bit off there, but whatever makes you happy."

"You know what would make me happy?"

"What?"

"Getting a frickin' life!" I hissed more angry at myself in the fact I was unable to stand than at his behavior. So, once again, with persistent fury, I tried to rise, only to be repeatedly greeted with the onset of sharp daggers in my midsection. Finally, with a whimper that had the velocity of a death cry, I managed to pull myself into a sitting position. I leaned over the edge of the cot, my head spinning from the pain alone, and my innards ready to explode, while I attempted to regroup my thoughts.

"Well, I don't think that's going to happen anytime too soon," he mused, observing my agony. "After all, you can't even walk, let alone have plans to get a life."

"Yeah? Well, look who's talking, pretty boy."

"That hurts."

"Of course," I muttered with an indignant eye roll.

"Speaking of pain, looks like you're in some right now."

"Maybe…" I groaned, and wondered how I could examine my stomach skin without Alec trying to cop a feel. Perhaps if I kicked him in the groin and told him to turn around, he would actually listen to me. 

"Figured so. You're white and sweating, so either you're sick, or trying to fight off a pretty tough-assed pain." He then moved close enough for me to smell smoke and metal on his tanned skin as he crouched down beside me. Looking up, he examined my face for traces of some unknown cause. "Yup. Pain. Your pupils are quivering."

"It's just the drugs."

"Maybe that's what you _want_ people to think…" he laughed.

"And what would you know about, oh, Mr. Bearer of Bad News? Not only am I stuck in this damned prison, I get to meet my clone, X10-416 and get my face punched in with dear old 'Deck grinning at me. Now how's that for some new house fun?"

"I know a lot more than you'd think I'd know about that."

"Oh, that's right," I grumbled sarcastically. "You're my _captain_, so, of course, you just know everything about me and my little life here at Project Manticore."

"Snippy, today, aren't we?"

"Bite me."

"Guess so," he muttered, rising to his feet.

"What do you know about the pain?"

"Why should I tell you? You might just decide to bite my hand off, 415."

"Maybe because I'll tell the directors how you decided to make out with me."

"They won't believe you. After all, you're a rogue and have lied before, and you _are_ the one who basically caused the uprising at the Seattle facility."

"I'll get them video footage."

"And I can say I was using a real world tactic to gain your trust and admiration."

"And I'll say you can shove it up your ass if you don't tell me why the hell my stomach is killing me."

"All right," he sighed, "take a look at your abdomen."

"Not with you watching."

"Turn your back to me, then." I did so, casting a quick glance one over my shoulder for any suspicious Alec looks. Then, tenderly lifting up a gray corner, I found, along the bottom of my stomach, a crosshair of tiny black stitches. The Manticorian Monsters had opened me up. 

"Stitches!" I nearly screamed, whipping around to face the bemused Alec. "What now?"

"Well, Alanza, you remember X10-416, don't cha?"

"Yeah..." I replied, not liking where he was going.

"Pain is from where they opened you up to do some scrapings of your interior organs for cloning, cut and snip pieces here and there-"

"Get to the point," I growled.

"-also to remove some egg cells, _and_ to implant an embryo in you. His child. Your child. Alanza, dear, congratulations, you're pregnant with the supreme killing machine."


	13. Ultimately Killing Him

I stared at him blankly for a moment, unbelieving that he spoke the truth. I couldn't be pregnant. Not now. Not ever. I had pushed James away just to make sure I didn't become pregnant, and cried when I feared that I was with Brandon's child. And now, after my many months of avoiding pregnancy, I was, just because some doctor had taken a scalpel to my belly? 

"You're lying," I told Alec flatly without any expression of emotion, believing that if I didn't give the reaction he wanted, he would simply laugh and say that he was joking. That he was simply being his facetious self.

__

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows shot up to his forehead in disbelief as his voice jumped up about five pitches.

"You're lying," I repeated as I began to madly ramble, unable to make sense even to myself anymore. Alec's reaction was not what I had planned for, and I desperately feared that he spoke the truth. The truth that scared me enough into finally breaking down my ever vigilant walls. "You're lying because you're trying to get me to fall apart and go psycho on you. You want me to think that that's what happened so that I'll become a good little soldier, and you won't have to battle me anymore-"

"Alanza…"

"No, no, it makes perfect sense: Lydecker doesn't want to fight me anymore. You don't want to fight me anymore. So, what better way than to tell the prisoner they're pregnant? Ha, see it works that way…it works…"

"Why would I be lying about something so serious?" Alec questioned, looking straight at me with a solemnity that I hadn't seen in him before.

"I'm too young to have a child! I'm only eighteen! I should be out with my friends, getting illegally drunk, and partying and going to college and staying up late and…and…and…I-I-I can't have a baby!"

"Hate to break it to you, but, first of all, you _are_ having a child. Secondly, you're not quite that young. 416's mom-X7-452-had him when she was only ten-"

"Ten?!" I screeched. "Of all the damned things to do to a person-"

"It was for the good of Manticore." 

"Manticore can go to hell!" I screamed at him. Then, lowering my voice, I continued, "All right, so maybe I am pregnant. Hate to say it, but, unfortunately, it does make sense because I am 'Deck's precious 'pedestal' after all. But," I hissed, walking up to Alec and jabbing a finger in his chest, "I will _never_ become one of them."

"You pretty much already are."  
"No."

"You're carrying the most powerful being ever created. C'mon, Alanza, you're not stupid, so, think about, if you will: 599 and 452-both the X5 and X7 series are very strong and domineering people right there. 416 and you therefore have extraordinary genes, and this child will be even better. It's not hard to comprehend. Selective breeding is all it is."

"It's repulsive is what it is."

"That's a little bit harsh, don't you think?"

"A little bit harsh is them knocking me up to have a child that I don't even want!"

"I think we've already been through this: You're having a child whether you want to or not."

"What if I get rid of it?" I challenged.

"You can't. You'd have to kill yourself first and-No. Don't even _think_ about something like that, Alanza."

"Why not? I hate it here. And both me and the baby would be better off dead," I snapped, turning away from him and walking over to the opposite wall, where I ran my fingers over the cracking cement blocks.

"Don't be stupid. What about your family? Your parents? Think about what your death would do to them."

"They'd probably kill themselves too, so we can have a nice little reunion in hell."

Alec sighed in exasperation and held out his hands as if he was offering me something that he was unable to give. "Look, Alanza, I didn't come here anyway to talk about your baby; it's not my business. I just get informed of these things because I'm your C.O. That's all. You have questions, take them up with Lydecker the next time you see him."

"And when'll that be?"

"Probably sooner than you'd think. But," he said, shaking his head firmly to force himself to avoid the subject, "no more about that, like I said, I didn't come to talk about babies."

"Then what _did_ you come here for?"

"First of all, you've been unconscious for about two days now-give or take a bit." He waved his hand flippantly. "Doesn't matter how long, but still, doctors have been running tests on you, organ scrapings, freezing embryos of yours and 416's, implanting you with the various embryos…you get the point: you've been out for awhile now."

"Good to know," I mumbled, leaning against the cement wall and picking at the plaster with my long nails that still contained some of 416's dried blood.

"During that time, something happened…that I think you might want to know."

I lifted my eyes to meet his, but found instead that he was looking away, almost ashamed of what happened. Scrunching my eyebrows together, I asked, "What do you mean?"

"You remember 657?"

"Case? How could I forget?"

"Well, the directors were moving him up and down the stairs to different cells and labs to try and cure a bacteria that got inside of him when his wounds were opened. Anyhow, they were taking him down one of the stairwells, and he tripped because he was so weak that he couldn't walk, and the doctors feared that if they sedated him then the drug would react with the medicine to kill the bacteria. When he tripped, he fell down three flights of stairs, and when the directors finally got to him, his head was split open…like a watermelon I heard. By the time they took him into ER, it was too late to do anything for him…" Alec looked up and met my stunned eyes that instantly knew what he was going to say. "Alanza, 65…Case…is dead."

My heart froze, causing my much-needed oxygen to become frozen inside. Then, as my voice became one pleading moan, I began to madly shake my head, wanting to wake myself up from the hellish nightmare. "No…"

"Alanza, I-," Alec began, approaching me with hesitation, and apparently, couldn't bring himself to finish whatever he was about to say. 

I grasped the sides of my head as I slumped to the ground. "No…no…no…" The tears came to my eyes, and, as much as I tried to push them away, I couldn't. I shook my head over and over again, trying to convince myself otherwise. Looking up, I met Alec's translucent blue eyes and asked, wiping away tears to see him clearer, "Please tell me you're joking…Please…"

"I'm not." He crouched down next and stared at me, as if confused to the true identity of human emotions. Suddenly, the usually so suave Alec was replaced by a stumbling fool, and, had I been in the right state of mind, I would have found the scenario absolutely hysterical. Alec continued, mumbling, "I know he meant a lot to you…"

"He meant _everything_ to me!" I snapped, my voice nearly a screech, knowing that I certainly looked psychotic. I was crying hysterically now, with the tears staining my uniform. The short stubble of hair that I had was messed up, from being pulled on by myself. "Case was like a brother to me," I whispered, hating how horrid and loathsome I internally felt. "He said everything right to me, but I never listened. He's been there for me whenever I needed him…and now…when I need him most…he's gone."

Alec was gently patting my shoulder as I lay, curled into the fetal position on the cement floor. The boy was definitely unsure as to what to do when it came to emotions, but his presence was enough for me to appreciate. 

The next thing I knew, I was in Alec's arms, resting my head against his broad shoulder, sobbing madly. For the first time, it seemed as though he wasn't trying to cop a feel or think in a perverse manner. Instead, he simply stroked the short strands of hair that I had, whispering that everything was going to be all right with a falseness that, even through my tears, I could notice. He was just feeding me bullshit so that I would stop the sobbing. Stop acting like a fool.

I didn't care, though, because his words meant nothing to me, for Case was dead, and I was left all alone, hating the knowledge that Case had prepared me for my day at Manticore…this life in its horrid entirety, and I had let him down, ultimately killing him.


	14. Onto the Depths of Hell

In the days that followed, I remained apathetic, neither dead nor alive. I slept much more than I ever had, and I always had to be awoken by Alec or another X5 captain in the early morning hours because I slept through the dawn alarm. Nonetheless, I was roughly thrown out of my cot so that I could attend lessons. Since Case's death, I had kept passive enough that Lydecker-or another high-ranking director-had deemed me acceptable to attend the classroom military sessions. So, I would sit at a long desk, flanked by other blank-faced X10s and dully watch words flash across a slide projector screen. I didn't care. I had no reason to care. Yet, I wasn't rebelling, and that, it seemed, was all that mattered to Manticore.

I ate only what was put in front of me by the never-ceasing Alec, who, despite his earlier self-assurance, soon began to watch me with mute pity and grief of his own. My hands, now prone to relentless quivering at random times, would disable me from picking a fork up and carrying the food to my mouth. The bread on the utensil would shake from the vibrations of my body, then fall to the floor, as I would slowly try to pick it up off the floor so that I could continue my dinner process.

One night, I was eating in my cell with Alec standing by. He had vigorously kept his jokes up until a day or two after Case's death when he realized that I wasn't responding. So, he was quiet and placid, but I would occasionally hear his laughter out in the hallways; he hadn't let me stop him from living. 

However, on that night, I was leaning over to gently lift some sort of croissant to my lips, when it fell out of my hands and onto the relatively clean floor below. As I had been doing, I bent over to retrieve part of the meal. Suddenly, Alec dashed in front of me, grasping my wrists tightly as he looked up at me from his crouched position. Making no move to fight him, I merely stared quizzically at him, wondering what he was doing.

"Stop this," he hissed, seemingly angry. "Just stop this. You can't live your life like this."

Silently, I closed my eyes and turned my head away, not responding. Flashes of Case passed underneath my eyelids, and I nearly fell off the cot from grief. 

__

"When everything breaks, the world will_ know who you are." _

"The evil king is a master of disguise." 

"He's closer than you could ever imagine."

__

"This is my fault. I could have stopped it, and I didn't. Now, you're all paying for it because of what I brought about."

"James will be the one to cause that breakage of your life."

__

"Et tu Brute."

__

"But, if you have to ask whether or not it's shattered, then it's probably not because when the world does break, letting everyone know who you really are, you'll know. You'll know because it'll be the worst pain you've ever felt in your entire life, and, if you haven't felt that amount of anguish and grief, then, luckily, your world is still intact."

Slowly, letting the flashbacks dissolve into one horrid monster that would lay dormant in the back of my mind until I decided to let it eat me alive, I turned to Alec, who had released my hands and was sitting on the cot beside me. He waited to see if I would speak, and, when I didn't, he did instead. "He was one person. One person, Alanza. You have to understand that. In a lifetime, you'll probably meet a thousand people. More than that even. One out of a thousand. Now, quit acting like this, and let's get your head on straight."

I leaned over, so that my elbows rested on my thighs as I stared at the ground, letting my tears wistfully wet the ground below. Perhaps Case had been one person, but he certainly had been a giant among the many others I had known and loved. The sorrowful storm raged through my body, and I began to sob, my shoulders heaving and lungs quivering. In the background, Alec groaned impatiently to himself, obviously disgusted with my mortal emotions.

"Can we please move on?" he asked, with a bored eye-roll so powerful, I could hear his pupils slide. 

Looking up at him, I spoke the first words I had said since my plea of him to deny Case's death. My vocal chords ached, but I wouldn't back down any longer. The knowledge of what I had to do now presented itself in all its radiant glory. Alec's bemused arrogance had only made my task at hand all the more evident. He had told me to stop my behavior, to move on, and that Case was only one person. I would stop my depression; I would move on; I would avenge Case's death, for my cousin would not die in vain.

Alec and I met intense eyes, and, with a voice that would scare a psychotic, I whispered, with my lips pulled into the feral snarl that had terrified James, "He may have only been one person. But, he was not _a _person. He was _the _person. I loved him, Alec. I loved him more than I should have. And, I will move on. I will move onto the depths of Hell, and Manticore shall fall with me."


	15. Such a Good Boy

Later that night, after everyone was supposed to be asleep, I was awakened by the sound of my door scratching open. I bolted upright in my cot, flashing my eyes in the direction of the door, barely breathing. With the stealth of a tiger, I crept out of my bed and crouched by the side of the door, ready to ambush the person who entered. Just as the stranger closed the door behind them, I pounced. 

We hit the ground together easily-they had put up no fight-and as soon as I pressed my nose into their neck, ready to bite their ear off, did I realize who I was dealing with. Scrambling up and away from the person pressed prostrate on my cell floor, I hissed, "James?"

He nodded in the darkness and rose hesitantly to his feet, obviously unable to see in the darkness. Keeping his hands outstretched so that he didn't bump into anything, he stumbled over to my cot, where he sat, breathing heavily. 

With my eyesight, I could clearly see him, but yet I remained just an outline in the darkness to him. He had changed little since I had last seen-and attacked-him. His hair was still as brown as ever, and his body remained tanned, nevertheless, there were scratches on his face, scars and bruises, and his hands were undoubtedly tender, for, not only were they shaded black and blue, but he kept them clutched loosely in his lap. Abruptly, he spoke the first true words to me since I was kidnapped. Despite our meetings in the construction area and in the brainwashing sequence, he had never quite acknowledged my presence. Now, he did, and it pained me to a certain extent to see him sitting so close, while I stood coldly in an opposite corner.

"I'm sorry, Alanza," he finally whispered, his voice cracking, betraying the signs of crying. "I'm sorry for everything." In the black curtain that covered us, I caught the glimmer of a tear running down his face, which extremely confused me because he was supposedly the unstoppable James Lydecker. Nothing and no one was supposed to affect him so deeply that he would be moved to tears. 

"So am I," I bit harshly, offering him little sympathy. Perhaps I was able to forgive him for supposedly cheating on me back in Seattle. Perhaps I could forgive him for lying to me about his father. But, I was unable to forgive him for leaving me in this dungeon.

"You probably hate me…"

"Yes," I acknowledged, although I truly didn't _hate_ him, for hatred was an extremely powerful emotion, one that I believed only represented your disgust for someone when you wanted them dead. And, no matter how much I disliked James, I didn't want to see him dead, for some distant part of me still wanted to be back in his Seattle apartment, clutched warmly in his arms.

"That's understandable," he continued. "I hate myself enough for putting you here-"

"Then why didn't you try to save me? To save us?" I snapped, keeping my voice carefully low. I was almost positive that no guards patrolled my corridor, since Alec had ordered them to stay away from me, but I couldn't ever be sure when it came to Manticore.

"Believe me, I've tried-"  
"Never seen it."

"Of course you haven't. I tried to get to you back in Seattle when I came into your attempted brainwashing…so that wasn't just coincidence that I showed up. I tried to intercept your aerial flight out here…failed that one. Tried to get 416 out of the picture and save you that way…Believe me," he sighed, "your captain…494, or whatever-"

"Alec."

"Alec?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in the darkness. He was hunched over, resting his arms on his thighs as he stared up in the direction where he assumed I stood by merely following my voice. James then shrugged. "Fine. _Alec's_ been keeping a pretty tight watch on your cell. I'd come down the hallway in Seattle, and he'd immediately be up in my face, telling me 'to stay out of his _business'_. Well, I finally managed to get a ride out here, and, figuring that they wouldn't be expecting me, I was able to sneak in here."

"Do you want me to _thank_ you or something?"

"No. It's just that…Alanza, I…"

"You what?" I asked, approaching him with hesitation. From a quick scan of his thoughts-which I was now able to trace because he no longer had anything to hide from me-I didn't assume he was lying to me, and wasn't about to turn me over to Lydecker or anything, but I still avoided him with ordinary caution.

"I heard about Case," he replied, his voice a mere trickle of sound.

"Yeah…" I responded, hating the horrid feeling that burned inside of me. Of all my Manticorian moments, I refused to cry in front of him. Especially now, when he was weaker than I. 

"I miss him…a lot," James continued on, basically talking to himself. Apparently, no one inside Manticore had given him a proper time to grieve for him best friend, and in my cell, he was finally realizing what Case had meant to him. "He…he…" James stumbled, before inhaling deeply to prevent himself from crying just as I was.

Uncertainly, I sat down beside him, but safely kept my distance. Hearing my arrival, he looked over in my direction, and for the first time-in a long time-we met eyes. Underneath all the horror he had bestowed upon me and all the lies he had flaunted, he was still James. Still the boy I met in the bar months ago, and the one I had danced with many times over. 

"Alanza," he gasped in what sounded like a laughing sob that didn't have enough strength to live. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Not now, James. What did you come here to talk about? If you get spotted in here, it's going to be both of our heads, so talk fast."

"I came to get you out."

"Out? How?"

"I've been doing some research into the construction of the Manticore facilities; they're virtually identical. Anyhow, in each cell, there's an airshaft that leads onto the roof. What I'm figuring is that we'll find yours, climb through the vent and outward. Once we get outside, we'll get over the perimeter fence. I've got a car waiting not too far from here."

"And how exactly are _we_ going to get over the perimeter fence?"

"You can jump over it; I know you can. The X7s will see me. I lie, say that I was trying to prevent you from escaping, and you leave Manticore. No questions asked."

"They won't believe that."

"It's worth a try. Dad won't let the X7s kill me because I'm the only one who knows how that Seattle building is constructed. All the plans are in my head; I'm a valuable asset to him. He won't let me die."

"Does he know you're not in Seattle right now?"

"No. But, don't worry about that…" James trailed off, and, when I quickly delved inside his mind, I was able to catch images of him shooting the guards. Horrified, I shrank away from him as he rose to his feet to begin searching for the vent. Finally, after pacing around my cell and tapping on the ceiling, he produced a hollow sound, and with a sigh of relief, pushed back one of the tiles to reveal a silver tube that was a little bit bigger around than I was. "Here we go," James said, making a motion upward. Apparently his sight was adjusting to the stark darkness, for he could follow me with his eyes instead of ears. 

I walked over to him, and looked upward into the never-ending tunnel that led up inside Manticore. "You sure we aren't going to get fried if they turn the heat on?" I asked.

"They don't heat this place _that_ well," he commented. And turning to me, he said, "I'll give you a boost up, then, if you would be nice enough, you can pull me up after you."

I nodded blankly, unable to believe that I was-after weeks of relentless attempts-escaping. 

"All right," he said and bent down to hook his hands into a foothold that I could step into. But, before I did so, I looked down at him.

"Why did you come back for me?" I asked. "You certainly could have left me here and continued on with your life."

He laughed hoarsely in the back of his throat. "I've told you this before: I don't live well with guilt."

We made it through the ventilating system with surprising luck that I hadn't seen since Dinner Date Number Four, and we were out onto the roof in a matter of extended minutes. From there, we jumped down into the deep snow that had gathered around the edges of the building and waited in a bunch of trees, buried deep in the snow, until there was a break in the pacing X7s. Since there were many drifts around the side of the walls, we were able to basically bury ourselves in the snow merely by having fallen down into it. For the time being, we were safe. As safe as safe could be inside Manticore.

By this point, I no longer despised James enough to want to see him tortured, but I still didn't trust him completely. Some animalistic instinct warned me of approaching danger, and, stupidly, I ignored it.

Then, as the X7s cleared to change shifts, James poked his snowy head up out of the frozen ice particles, glanced around. Not looking down at me still crouched, he gave me a push in the back, hissing, "Go!", and we were off, hurtling towards the fence like our lives depended on it. 

For certainly my life did.

Unfortunately the snow slowed us down, and my body was aching from the numerous attempts at brainwashing, and also from the surgery a few days before. Yet, I continued to gasp for air, raggedly sucking in any and all oxygen molecules that I could gather. James had been separated from me and was heading for an opposite fence where, I noticed, there was a higher slope, allowing him to be able to jump the perimeter better-if he tried.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed across the snow followed by the scream of a siren, and an outcry of voice rang through the pine trees. "Get them!" "Don't let the girl escape!" Soldiers immediately poured out of the once still building and hammered towards us, trampling the snow underneath their heavy combat boots.

"Run, Alanza!" James bellowed from a place that I could not see, apparently no longer caring about his future. "Run!" 

And I ran.

Yet, despite my wonderful speed, I had just bent my knees to fly over the fence when a taser sliced through my back, sending me slamming and seizing against the wire boundary as harsh screams escaped my lips. I vainly grasped at the wire circles, trying with all my might to pull myself over. Just a little bit more, and I would be free. Unfortunately, the soldiers' guns bore down on me from a distance, causing my body to shiver and shake before tumbling dumbly into the snow below. Hitting the ground, the coldness helped to revive some of my dizziness, but I was unable to fully recuperate. I had been so close. So utterly close. Just a few more inches would have put me into freedom. I was able to stay awake just long enough to watch the horrid events that played themselves out.

Out of nowhere, the sound of gunfire was heard. Real gunfire. Not the hissing electricity of tasers or the whizzing of a tranquilizing dart. Bullets that brought blood buzzed through the air. 

In my dying distance, the gunshots increased-one even hitting me in the foot that I was too drugged to fully comprehend-and I saw with horror, James drop the ground, not seizing from a taser's sting, but dead from a pistol's bullet. The soldiers swarmed around his body, kicking and punching at James who now lay in the frozen snow. 

"No…" I croaked, unable to fully move my lips. Apparently, Lydecker's assurance in James was short-lived, for James was dead by the very monsters he presumed not to be able to kill him. And, I was too unconscious and cold to even cry a single tear for the man who had brought me to Manticore, and then tried to free me.

Then, as the darkness fell down upon me, a quiet voice, barely heard by my freezing ears, whispered, "It was a pity he had to die so young. He was such a good boy, after all."


	16. Little Girl in a Big Scary World

Case was dead.

James was dead.

The rest of my family was as good as dead. 

I was dead.

Reflecting back upon James' death, I came to the conclusion that I truly did love him. Although, after I knew who he was, and he knew who I was, I wasn't sure I could continue to do, I had loved him nonetheless. Before everything began to crumble with Lydecker's intervention, I had been wondering about marriage and a future with him. Now, I would never even have a chance to fantasize about such things.

Case's absence-different from James'-still hit me equally hard. He was just a mere cousin to me-even if our parents really weren't siblings-but, as I screamed at Alec, he had meant everything to me. From our meeting in the forest with crazy Max Jr.-who I missed insanely for her constant laughter and giggles, and I had to wonder if she was laughing now-to calling him at Logan's penthouse the night that the world spun around more than once, he had always been the person with words to calm me. The person that remained stable for everyone, despite what happened around him.

In a twisted sense, the two men I had both loved and depended on the most were dead. And if Dad was deceased too, well then, Logan might as well throw in his towel as well, for any male that came near me was as good as dead.

After James' death, I slipped into what would have been called "clinical depression" by real world psychiatrists; at Manticore, I had been classified as an accepting outcast, who had finally realized that I was important to rebuilding the military facility. In the real world, I would have been put onto some kind of anti-depressants, along with some helpful counseling because my world appeared so dark and bleak; in Manticore, I was allowed to mingle with the other lower level X-series in the classroom setting, and I could attend meals freely in one large mess-hall because I was no longer rebelling. I was finally beginning to understand why Mom had believed that Manticore had seen the world backwards, and the comprehension made me miss her all the more. 

Alec and I barely saw each other, because he no longer had to personally deliver meals to me, thus, allowing him to go where he wanted to and when. I had heard-through some mischievous X8s that sat near my table in the dining hall-that he had been appointed to second in command of the rogue training team. Apparently, Lydecker and the other directors had believed Alec had done such a splendid job on me, that he might as well be promoted. Yet, when I did manage to catch a glimpse of Alec as I marched onto lunch or around the building because I had not yet gained enough trust to go outside, he would smile drolly in my direction-giving a usual Alec smile-before turning a corner, and leaving me utterly alone again.

My meetings with 416 and Lydecker became a joined affair not long after James' death. While waiting in a blank room the day after I tried to escape, I had heard through the crack underneath the door, Lydecker and another director discussing James.

"What do you want done with the body, sir?" the other man had said.

"Get it out of here. I don't want his mother finding out."

"Claudia?"  
"Yes. Tap the phone lines in his apartment back in Seattle; confiscate mail; always have someone near his old place. She or anyone else attempts contact, take 'em out."

"Sir?" the other man had questioned in disbelief.

"You heard me. I let her get away once-when she was pregnant with James-, and it's not going to happen again. You have direct orders to terminate any person coming in attempted contact with the boy. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." The other man paused, shifting awkwardly on his feet before asking, "Would you like some sort of funeral arranged for the boy?"

"No," Lydecker responded. "You can take the body to forensics. Let them have a look at it. Maybe we can get a clone out of it and mess with that X10's judgement."

"415?"

"Yes, that one."

"The time to create a clone…"

"I know…" Lydecker sighed, "a long time. Let them to what they want to it. I don't want it anymore," he had said, referring merely to James as an "it" before turning away to retrieve 416.

416 no longer regarded me as a threat, but as a play-toy with which he could aimlessly toss about only to receive a nice pat on the head from Lydecker. Since I no longer even tried to fight in a worthy manner-I did manage put up enough resistance that Lydecker wouldn't send me back to brainwashing, though-416 almost found me boring. Briefly, I wondered as I was lying on the ground with blood dribbling from my nose during one of our many visits, if he realized that I was carrying our child. This thought gave me an idea of how to get rid of the baby. I figured that if 416 pummeled me enough, he might just kill the baby in the process.

No such luck. Apparently, he had been warned about the fetus, and thus avoiding hitting my midsection. One plan down, and how many others yet to go?

I had been moved into a room with other X9s or X10s-I was unsure because they barely talked to me. The ceiling was extremely far above my head, so I hesitated in jumping up there to search for heating vents. For certainly, the last thing I needed was to have Lydecker start dissecting me to figure out why I could fly. So, I tried to find time when I was alone and could be free to do what I wanted. Fat chance. 

So, despite the fact I had little, if any privacy, in everything from sleeping to showering, I at least could stare out of the massive windows that were heavily barred, but lined the large sleeping quarters nonetheless. So, late at night, when many of the other soldiers-who were about my age-had gone to sleep, I would sit on my bed, resting my arms on the cold cement windowsill as I stared outward into the life that I had almost resurrected. 

The snow thoroughly covered the ground, as if wanting to choke off the rest of life from even daring to think to survive. I desperately wanted to know what day it was. My birthday? Christmas? New Years? No one in Manticore dared to tell us anything about the world around us, so I was totally oblivious to dates, times, and outside information. Yet, I still continued to stare outside into the glittering white abyss, lamenting the fact that I had almost been free.

Around the third or fourth night of my sitting and staring, a soldier, who appeared to be older than I was with black hair and dark skin approached me. She had a sweet face, which reminded me briefly of Case, and I once again had to force myself not to cry. Finally, I realized that I was meeting with Tinga's clone, and it pained me to see her so close and so unbroken.

"Why do you look out the window every night, 415?" she asked me sitting down on the empty cot across from mine.

"Thinking," I mused, which, although it wasn't a complete answer, she accepted for what it was and nodded earnestly.

"About what?"

I sighed heavily, wondering what I was supposed to tell someone who had never been in the outside world for one minute of their staccato life. Shaking my head, I responded, "Lots of things."

"Lots of people?" she questioned, hitting the nail right on the head, causing it to burn right into my flesh.

I nodded and slowly turned to look at her. "Yeah," I replied. "Lots of people."

She paused and studied my face in the obscuring shadows for a moment, never letting her brown eyes waver. "They say you lived out there," she whispered as if she would have her tongue ripped out for saying such things.  
"I did…for eighteen years, I did."  
"I bet the people were evil." She shook her head, letting her dark locks tumble down around her cocoa colored ears. "They aren't like us. They don't deserve to be treated well."

"Who told you that?" I asked in disbelief.

"Lydecker. My captain." She shrugged aimlessly. "Lots of people."

"The people out there aren't evil," I said. "Look at me. Do I seem evil?"

She hesitated. "But…you're like us."

"Not really. I want to be back out there. Back with my family."

"Who's your family?"

"Za-" I began, but abruptly caught myself so that I could continue with my ploy of being "brainwashed". "X5-599, 452, 701, 798, 711, 734…They're all X5s. There's an X10 that I'm looking for, but I don't know her designation number."

"X5-452?" the girl's eyes widened immensely. "You know 452?"

"She's my mom."

"Your _mom_?"

"Why? What's so big about it?"

"She was in my outdoor training squad before the snow came. She was really pretty! She was really nice to me, but they had to take her away because she started rebelling because she began screaming something like 'Azana'…No, it was 'Alanza'. Yes," Mini-Tinga responded, "she was screaming for Alanza. Whatever that is."

Mom, I thought, turning away from this person who had no idea what she had told me. Mom was alive and searching for me just as I was searching for her. God, what I wouldn't give to see her.

"Do you know where they took her?" I asked, but at that moment, the door began to swing open as a janitor entered, and we all dashed frantically back to our beds. Closing my eyes in a pretend sleep, I dreamt of Mom that night, and I began to realize that, despite all the hype that followed me around, I remained nothing more than a little girl in a big scary world looking for her mommy.


	17. Christmas Magic

The next day, I was innocently on my way to breakfast, when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. Glancing behind me so that I wouldn't disrupt the rest of my marching unit, I saw Alec behind me. 

"Wha-" I began.

He hushed me, then, with a glimpse at the director leading us, he pulled me into a conveniently unlocked side room. Silently and securely, he shut the door behind me, so that we were alone in a room that appeared to be used for developing film. Had I not had wonderful DNA, I wouldn't have been able to see him at all in the distorted darkness.

"What do you want?" I asked, angrily pushing him away because I was actually looking forward to breakfast. Having not eaten a lot at dinner the previous night, my insides were grumbling, anxious to be fed.

"I thought you might want hear a little bit of info I dug up."

"Like what?"

"Well, first of all, they're shipping James Dearest's body out today."

"So?" I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned against the door, assuming a slouched, "I don't give a damn" position, which was something I rarely-if ever-did. 

"Figured you might want to say good-bye 'cause I know you're all sentimental and stuff," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Pausing, I replied, "Look, James and I were a long time ago. He's not that part of my life anymore."

"I'm just saying…If you want to see him, he'll be on this floor, in room 37. I can sneak you in there."

"Alec, look, I appreciate what you're doing, but…no…I can't get involved with James again."

"He's dead, Alanza," Alec stated as if I had just said the sky was green. "You're not _going _to get involved. Well, unless you're one of those kinky people who enjoy dead guys. But, he's not coming back."

"I know. All right? I know. Now, please, just leave me alone."

"Fine," Alec shrugged, turning away from me. "Guess you don't want to hear what else I found out."

"You really are a pain in the ass. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. You remind me everyday."

"I haven't spoken to you in about a week!"

"Still…"

"Still, I'd like to hear what you got."

"All right, then. X5-452-"

"My mom," I said.

"Yeah, her. I met her in solitary confinement because the directors couldn't control her. Apparently she went psycho screaming for you out in the barracks about a day ago."

"You met Mom?" I asked, feeling all life slip out of me and form a puddle by my feet.

"Yeah. Didn't tell her I knew you though. She was so out of it, it wasn't even funny. God, they zapped her up good."

"Could you deliver a message to her?"

"I don't think she'll understand you. Her brain's pretty mushy."

"Could you try?"

He sighed. "I'll do my best. What is it?"  
"Tell her that the battle is ready."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"She'll know what it means, believe me, she'll know."

"Whatever," Alec shrugged, then began to walk towards the door, ready to leave. "I'll catch you later."

"Wait. I need yourhelp."

"Really? How?"

"I want you to find my dad. I found Mom; I want to find him."

"Oh no," he protested, holding up in hands in mock defense. "I am not getting involved with that. James is one thing. And meeting your mom by coincidence is another thing, too. But searching for your family is a whole other."

"Please?"

"No."

Slowly, I walked towards him, and began to rub my hands over his shoulders, then on his lower jawbone. Gently, I kissed the sides of Alec's face, whispering, "Please? Won't you, please?"

"Alanza, I…"

I clasped his ruddy face in both of my eyes and began to peck at his unrelenting lips before he softened into warm putty. Wrapping his arms around me, he at last met my kisses eagerly as if he had wanted this for some time, and had been unable to have it. Between kisses, I asked again, "Will you help me find him?"

Then, unable to resist me any longer, he sighed heavily, his head buried against the nape of my neck. "I'll see what I can dig up," he whispered, letting his lips tickle the sensitive skin, which caused me to squirm as I attempted to hold in a giggle.

Finally, after several extended moments locked together, we broke apart as he muttered something about a "leader mission", and scurried away, obviously relishing in what had just happened. I, meanwhile, slumped against the door, which would give him time to get away before I would head down to the mess hall.

My plan was in motion. All I had to do was save Mom, locate Dad and the others before ditching Manticore once and for all. And little did loyal Alec know that he was betraying his own comrades while assisting me.

During breakfast in which some sixty soldiers gathered together at assigned tables, I managed to overhear a group of the directors talking as they passed by my table. There were two of them to which I could not place names with faces, but I recognized them nonetheless. 

"You planning on going home tonight?" a shorter one with light, pudgy facial features asked the other.

"Probably not. 'Deck's got us working like mad to try to get that damned Seattle plant finished before February thaw sets in and turns the whole place into muck." He sighed and ran his dark fingers through his black hair. "If only the son hadn't gotten shot…'Deck's son, that is 'cause it definitely would have made life a whole helluva lot easier for us. That kid knew what he was doing."

"Well, it was all that rogue's fault."

"I don't care whose damned fault it is for killing off the kid. A holiday is a holiday, and I want to go home tonight. This'll be Tyler's second Christmas that I've been gone, and I don't want to miss it again." 

They continued onward, chatting amongst themselves, leaving me to stare stupidly after them. It was Christmas Eve and no one had told me? 

Right then and there, I figured that since Santa probably wouldn't find me at Manticore this year, it was time to start making a little bit of my own Christmas magic. 


	18. Finally Broken

After a mangling session with 416-who I was starting to believe needed a name besides "416"-and a few dreary "Duty, Discipline, Mission", classes, I was sent back to my community bedroom to wait for approximately forty-five minutes until dinner. During this period, we were supposed to study for an exam the next day on different medical techniques and how to use them during times of war. Personally, the whole subject bored me; I wasn't there to become the next neurosurgeon. Still, nobody could tell the difference between when I was actually reading the material and just blankly staring at it.

Some time later, while the rest of the room was quiet, behaving like good little soldiers, I fell asleep onto my book-literally. I had gone many nights without sleep, for I spent my time staring out the window in a vain attempt to cling to the last shred of hope at freedom. I had also begun to regularly converse with Mini-Tinga who interrogated me about life "out there" until a janitor or the morning arrived, which led to many sleepless nights. Yet, she, having been trained for minimal sleep didn't suffer; I, the girl who adored sleep and rest, did suffer. So, acting no different than a college kid on a speed withdrawal, I snoozed right on the book. No one bothered to try to wake me apparently, because when I reawoke in a dark, freezing room, I was all alone, but I could hear the clatter of supper pans down the hallway.

With my grumbling stomach tugging at me, I rolled off the stiff cot, slightly perplexed as to why a guard hadn't grabbed me behind the ears and thrown me down the hallway. Still, I wasn't complaining. Quietly, I cracked the thick iron door open and peeked down the hallway, searching for any Manticore personnel. Fortunately, nobody but young child, who was probably only four or five, wandered down the hallways, searching for his meal. Soon enough though, the little guy meandered into the lunchroom to join his comrades. 

I slithered out of my room, furiously glancing every which way so that I wouldn't be caught and taken into psy-ops. As I traveled down the hallway, a door number caught my eye: Thirty-seven. The room Alec had presumed James' body to be in. At first, I ignored even the thought of stepping into that room and continued hurriedly down the corridor, praying that my heart was beating loud enough for only me to hear it. Then, just as I was about twenty feet away from the room, I reminded myself that this was Christmas Eve. That meant that my birthday had already gone by-I was nineteen, then-and nothing had been done to make it a joyous occasion. Well, then, it was my turn to start taking charge of my life. Although going into C37 would only be a little taste of freedom and rebellion on my part, I felt that I deserved at least that much to compensate for the lost birthday and Christmas love.

So, I dashed into the unguarded room and locked the door behind me. I clasped my hand to my flighty chest, breathing heavily as I sagged against the door, praying that I wasn't going to be spotted. I was risking everything by being in this area, and the fact overwhelmed me, as the pain of past psy-ops burned through my body. Rapidly, my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and my brain consumed the details with great hunger.

The room wasn't extraordinarily large by any standards, roughly the size of my bedroom that I stayed in with the other X9s and X10s. To my right, there were two main rows of numerous silver cabinets with labels on them that I could not read. The compartments rose about four in a column-five in a row-before jutting backwards into the wall to form a shelf, then continuing on in their obedient fashion inside the wall. Clear containers with glittering liquid inside rested on the ledge between the two sets of cabinets. In the middle of the room, there was an operating table, complete with darkened overhead light, heart monitor, and all the medical instruments a person could want lying in a tray beside the table. Unfortunately, on top of the table, covered by a pale gray blanket, was a large mass that I knew could only be James' corpse. Sickened, my mind whirled, forcing me to peer onward at my new surroundings.

Farther on the left, there was a huge silver wall that was partitioned down the middle forming two doors, and light peeked out beneath the cracks in the doors. A blackened stunted hallway led from the main room around back of the lit room, but I dared not walk down the corridor for fear of what I might find.

Pushing myself away from the entrance door, I aimlessly began to stroll around the room, assuming that this was probably the ER. Since it was locked, I was in no hurry to rush around, glancing at the objects. I wanted to see everything up close and personal. Unfortunately, curiosity did kill the cat, and I was definitely in for one hell of a shocker myself. 

I walked over to the silver cabinets and was about to read the labels on the sides of the beakers, when a slow movement caught my eye. Whipping around in fear of Lydecker, I came face to face with a giant tank. It was taller than I was and filled with a translucent yellow liquid, which filled the glass area to the top. The cylinder aquarium had a massive black base that allowed the crystal column to stand, and on top, there was a metallic lid that had hinges on it so that the tank could be opened if desired. But, what repulsed and terrified me the most was on the opposite side of the glass. 

A man, who wore only flesh colored pants, bobbed aimlessly in the liquid, his arms locked securely to the sides of the glass, while his feet were in the same predicament, keeping him suspended. His head rolled loosely on its neck as if he did not have enough strength to keep it up. Since his head was shaved to a stark baldness, I could see the slit marks where they had dissected him with a scalpel, most likely tearing out his brains. One of his eye sockets was completely hollow with protruding blood vessels where his eyeball had been torn out; the other cavity did contain a blue eye, which fixated itself on me, chilling me thoroughly. From his navel to his upper diaphragm, a gray incision split the man in two. If I had wanted, I would have been able to see inside his body. But, fortunately, the dusky lighting prevented me from doing so. 

That's when the horrid truth hit me: I was in a morgue.

I nearly screamed, petrified with abhorrence for I was the only living person in the entire room. The only one who breathed oxygen; the only one who could press their hand to their chest and feel a pulse. And in front of me, I was looking at a real, live, dead guy. All right, a real, dead, dead guy, and I couldn't leave because the X7s had probably started their hunt for me, and most definitely, the last place they would ever expect to look would be the Manticore morgue.

Fighting nausea, I noticed that this corpse resembled a younger Alec to perfection, and I crouched down to read the designation number off the side of the tank. "X5-493. Evidence of severe psychosis found. Used Search and Destroy tactics to lure victims to death for religious reasons. See file for more info.," I said quietly to myself. Then, I swayed backwards, nearly vomiting up my last meal for the hundredth time in matter of minutes. 

I was looking at the dead Ben.

As if in answer to my thoughts, his head bobbed again in the liquid even though it appeared that there was no outer force allowing movement in the tank. Nevertheless, I walked closer to the glass and pressed my fingertips against it, watching Ben inside. So, this was the man who had made shadow puppets on the walls and told stories about the 'nomlies. This was the man who had murdered for the Blue Lady. This was the man who Mom had been forced to kill. 

This was Ben. 

I turned away, now more perplexed than revolted and went over to the numerous containers positioned on top of the shelf of cabinets and picked one up. On the side it read, "X5-656. Died in 2019 fire. Remains that could be found". Inside, there was a dark, black powder, which was obviously Tinga's ashes, and in the jar next to this one, a human brain floated in yellow liquid. I knew it was Tinga's even before I read the label. 

"Your son's dead," I said to the gray mass inside, picking up the cold glass and turning it around in my hands. "He died about a week ago. And I'm Max and Zack's daughter, Alanza. I've heard a lot about you…Case loved you very much, you know…" I whispered. Then, realizing that I was talking to a dead brain, I gently set Tinga's mind aside and kept on poking around where I shouldn't have been.

I found the brains and incinerated remains of Jondy, Zane, Jack, and Eva, and each I was able to identity because of the information Mom had told me many nights ago when Brin first came into our lives. Zane, though, was in many different lidded beakers, with his digestive tract in one place, while his heart was in another. In other places, there were whole heads that had literally been severed at the neck floating in equally strong preserving liquid. Some of the faces didn't even appear human-more cat or dog like-and when I saw that the labels read "X2" or "X3", I wasn't surprised. Tiny fetuses floated in test tubes no bigger than my hand, and human eyes were plucked apart in petri-dishes, separating pupils from irises, while entwining it all with tiny capillaries. Yet, above all, the fact remained that I was viewing my family history like I never had before, and it both disturbed and thrilled me. 

I crouched down, viewing the silver cabinet labels and ran my fingers over the numbers, attempting to recognize some. The identifications, "X7-452" and "X7-599", caught my eye, and I hesitantly opened one of the large drawers to reveal a shriveled body that resembled Mom. Horrified, I nearly slammed the door shut, afraid to pull out X7-599's in case a wrinkled Dad was lying in there. Then, another designation number caught my eye, and I scuttled over to make sure my eyes hadn't deceived me. 

X10-657.

"Case," I whispered to myself, and was just about to open the morgue drawer to properly say good-bye, when I heard, in my mental ears, _"'Lanza…'Lanza…"_

Immediately, I rose to my feet, prickling all over because someone was attempting to contact me through telepathy. I circled the room once, trying to determine where the voice was coming from. Finally, I determined that whoever or whatever was calling me was behind the big metal doors on the opposite side of the room.

Somehow, I managed to find a side button, and the doors slid open, revealing the worst horror of all. All the nightmares I had ever seen were nothing compared to what greeted me. I shrank away in horror, covering my face with my hands, for I knew I would burst into sobs if I looked at him much longer. Turning away, I breathed deeply, trying to force myself to relax and delete the nightmare that now relished on a dinner of my sanity.

Behind a glass wall etched with wire, Dad lay on his back, with his arms spread wide and feet tied at the bottom, while bright lights shone down on him. He looked relatively the same, with the exception of the horrendous scars extending across his chest, which were the only ones I could see because he wore a pair of gray sweat pants. Obviously, he had been tortured, and he had been tortured bad. His eyes were sunk deeply into his skull, covered in sharp bruises around the sockets, and a considerable amount of facial hair was around his bleeding lips. A greenish looking substance dripped into his body from an I.V. bag above his head, and a heart monitor constantly patrolled his life.

Finally, I managed to gather enough courage to turn back around and face him. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and, I let them run, not caring how much weakness I was displaying. My father was here.

"Dad," I nearly sobbed, pressing my hands against the glass that separated us. "You're alive…"

Somehow, he managed to hear me, which was probably how he had learned that I was in the morgue area to begin with, and he closed his eyes slowly, drugged and dazed in a state of mind I had never seen him before. Yet, since there was a plastic gag across his mouth, he had to resort to communicating with me through mental words instead of verbal. Unfortunately, his thoughts only came out in short, jarred English clippets since my translating of heat pulses was much out of practice, and it made communicating rather difficult.

_"You alive, 'Lanza."_

"So are you," I responded, unsure of whether to cry sanely or laugh psychotically. "And after all this time…I thought you were dead...But you're alive…alive…"

_"Not for long."_

"What do you mean? 'Not for long'. You can't die!"

_"Physically, I be here. Mentally, no."_

"What the hell did they do to you? Lydecker said that he would 'fix you', but I-I've never seen you like this before. What could they have done that was so awful?"

Dad closed his eyes again, then opened them only to be staring off into the distance as if fighting a monstrous devil. _"Stuff."_

"Like what?" I asked.

_"You not know."_

"Have you seen anybody else?" I questioned, changing the subject, for I knew that, despite what I believed, my time was limited.

_"Brin."_

"How is she? Did you talk to her? Can she help us?"

_"She evil."_

"What?"

_"Evil."_

"Brainwashed?"

_"More than imaginable."_

"I heard Mom's still alive," I continued, wanting to talk as long as possible with Dad.

_"Max?" _Even in his thoughts, I heard hear his heart leap in anticipation. He loved her. He would always love her.

"Apparently. Some clone of Tinga's told me, and my captain saw her…but let's not go there."

_"Heard 'bout James_."

"From who?" I questioned.

_"Directors. Think I deaf. Can no hear them._"

"Of course you can."

_"I know. They talk. I listen._" Mentally, he paused and heavily sighed, trying to grasp vainly for air. It seemed as though he could not have enough, and as his chest heaved, the stitches parted slightly to reveal slimy red insides. _"I am sorry, 'Lanza._"

"Case is dead too," I told him.

_"Yes. Manticore kills."_

"I want to get out."

_"Not likely."_

"I know." Then, I paused, and met intense eyes with him. "Let me free you."

_"You get in trouble."_

"I don't care anymore." 

_"They torture you."_

I furiously began searching for a way to get back inside his room and free him. The hallway only lead to a dead end file room-which I would have searched if I had had the time. Yet, despite my attempts, I was unable to find an entrance, which only infuriated me even more. Storming, I slammed a fist against the glass separating us, close to tears from frustration. "You have to get out!" I cried, no longer caring who heard and who didn't. 

_"'Lanza, no."_

Then, I got an idea. I would break the glass down. Perhaps I would be left with some debilitating scars, but if I could free Dad, then maybe I would have a shot at getting out of Manticore. He had to be free once again. We would be together, and Manticore would suffer for what they had done. Backing up, while Dad mentally yelled at me, I took a running leap and dove straight into the glass because I needed all the momentum that I could get.

I must have been out of my mind.

The glass exploded all around me, as in the distance an alarm began to cry, signaling my intrusion. I could hear the bellowing of soldiers coming down the hallway, while I lied on the floor, blood pooling around me. There were shards of glass everywhere. In my hair, in my hands, slitting my arteries and punctuating my pupils. I couldn't see. I could barely breathe. A wire that had reinforced the strength of the glass earlier was now through one side of my leg and out of the other, burning into me with every move that I made.

There was so much blood. So damn much. It mingled with the glass, forming a sea of red with crystal fish swimming in it. No one human could have contained this much plasma. And it sickened me immensely that all of it was mine.

Vainly, I tried to pull myself to my feet as I wrapped my arms around Dad's legs and used him as balance. His fingers twitched voluntarily, making a quick jerking motion, and I knew he was trying to say something, but my brain was in too much anguish to even comprehend. After all, I had to translate his heat pulses into words, and I could barely form words in my own mind.

Every gesture that I made resulted in even more lost blood and pretty soon, Dad was smeared with it. Harsh crimson streaks ran up and down his pant legs where I had tried to support myself. His hands, where I had also attempted to pull myself, were dripping with vibrant red liquid. 

The alarm was getting louder and louder. The soldiers were getting closer and closer. 

It was then that I realized I might actually die. The thought horrified me, and I urged myself onward as the soldiers rammed on the outside door, which was locked, and attempted to get inside. I had, at the most, a few minutes left alone. 

Finally, Dad was able to mentally blast his way through my mind, _"Fight them, 'Lanzie. Promise me you will fight them."_ I managed to nod my head, ragged breath spewing forth as I began to cough up scarlet phlegm onto the bloody tiled floor by his feet, collapsing to my hands and knees, where the pieces of glass grinned up at me like the Devil himself.

It was at that time that I felt the worst pain I'd ever felt in my entire life. With the shattered glass around me, mingling with my starkly contrasting blood, a horrendous amount of anguish and grief surged through my body. The X7s broke down the door, having taken definitely less than a few minutes to get inside, and tore me away from Dad to whom I could barely cry out. 

The tears ran hot down my face, blistering my skin. "Dad!" I shrieked, sobbing and clawing at the X7s. "Dad!" Their hands were strong against my skin, pulling and tugging me away from Dad. Again and again I screeched until blood began to pool into the corners of my eyes. It ran down my face, and through my hair. "Dad!" One of the X7s grabbed the butt of his gun and slammed it harshly up into my chin, causing me to collapse dumbly to the ground. As my eyes rolled up in my sockets, I wondered if it was possible for a human body to hurt so unbearably; the agony and suffering was too much. Finally, the blackness, like an ocean wave, sucked me up, relieving me of the unquenchable pain. And the girl, Alanza Guevara, disappeared into an unreachable region of my mind, while X10-415 stepped up to dictate the flesh. 

My world had finally broken.


	19. What I Despise

Throwing my entire body weight into the pounding slam, I hurled my opponent down onto the red mat with a sickening smack as his bare back hit the vinyl covering. Before he could bellow any angry words, I forced my forearm against his windpipe and pinned his wrists above his head with my other hand. With his face angrily flushed and dribbling with salty sweat, he swore under his breath, using words that I did not think such an uptight-assed soldier could learn. 

"You know, X5-237," I grinned, barely even perspiring, "next time you want to tell me what to do you'd better remember who you're talking to." Then, feeling that I didn't need to torture him further, I released his hands before quickly jumping up and away. Yet, just as I had turned my back to leave, he sprang to his feet and dashed towards me, fuming with unimaginable rage.

I, though, had heard him coming, thus rapidly whipping around, and catching him by the wrists. In one swift motion, I tossed him over my shoulder and onto the hard cement ground so hard that the wind was knocked out of him. Crouching down close to him, I hissed with a feral stare, "Don't push me, 237."

"You think you're all special!" he spat up at me, which caused some agitated glances from others in the exercise room. "All because you and 416 are Lydecker's little toys!"

Grabbing him by his collar, I slammed his head harshly against the floor, causing his neck to whip back in the abrupt motion. Finally, he groaned and fortunately lay still, unconscious from the blow I had delivered.

Standing up, I brushed off the back of my pants, shrugging aimlessly while a few X8s watched me nervously as I walked by. They both feared and admired me; I could read it in not only their body language, but thoughts as well. Every single person in that large, technologically advanced room knew that I could kick their ass without flinching; I relished in that fact. Unfortunately, just as I reached the locker room to shower and change, I heard my name being called from across the floor. 

"X10-415!" 

Immediately, I zipped around, as my hand coming up to my temple in an automatic perfect salute. "Yes, sir!" I barked back, frozen rigidly from the neck down. 

The exercise room, which had been horrendously noisy and crowded with stinky soldiers, was now still and apprehensive as Colonel Lydecker parted the sea of transgenic powerhouses. The X6s who had been wrestling on one of the mats stopped, paralyzed in their move; an X7 lifting weights had set the three hundred pound warm-up dumbbell on the floor next to his feet; and the harsh slapping of an X8 female's jumping rope had stopped. It was time to pay attention.

Colonel nimbly stepped over the unconscious body of X5-237, moving with slow, stiff steps due to the arthritis that ate away at his joints with a furious pace. The only reason I knew of the crippling disease was because he had asked me to donate blood-with my high concentration of stem cells and nanocytes-to him once a week. Through our hourly visits together, we had become rather good friends-if I dared to say that much-, although I respected him as a leader, and he still acknowledged me as a soldier. 

Finally, when he was close enough that he no longer had to yell in order to be heard over the racket of the others, which had slowly risen in volume, he said, "At ease, soldier."

My hand swooped down from its saluting position and looped around my back, while I spread my feet apart to be more comfortable. I focused my attention at a point on the wall, so that I would never be caught staring in Colonel's aged blue eyes. It was one thing when we weren't under the scrutinizing of other soldiers. After all, my admirable relationship with the Colonel had led to many nasty fights in the barracks, and neither of us wanted to start anything; I had already sent two X5s and an X7 to the hospital from broken bones and severe bleeding. 

"Have you eaten dinner yet, soldier?"

"No, sir."

"I would suggest that you do so."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like to know why, 415?"

"If it pleases you to tell me, then yes, I would like to know, sir."

"Very well. You are being sent on an overnight mission." He glanced behind him, knowing that we were being watched by jealous X5s who would die to fulfill the duties I only laughed at. "Come, 415, let's talk in my office."

"Yes, sir."

We walked down the hallway-he leading the way with me behind-while the ordinary human guards would tip their heads politely in our direction. 

For the past month and a week or two, I had been living the good life. Since my asinine attempt at freeing X5-599, I had finally come to terms that I was a soldier-not an imbecile in which I had been acting as. So, after realizing my misconception, I apologized to Colonel, asking him to allow me to perform as a warrior, for I would most enjoy serving Manticore.

X5-452 had been utterly wrong in what she had told me when I was living out in the squalid "real world". Manticore wasn't the enemy; she was the enemy. Trying to break down such a valuable military facility was unbelievable, and when Colonel Lydecker had first told me, I was utterly aghast and flabbergasted. Why in the world would someone think that Manticore was evil? Manticore was my home. My life, in fact.

Stupid rogues. 

At least I had received some pleasure after watching the psy-ops experience of 798. God, she had screamed, and I had enjoyed every moment. Try to destroy my home, huh? Let me destroy your brain. 

The child I carried now was my greatest pride, for with its birth, I would be giving Manticore a chance to survive, and, indeed that was all that mattered. 416 and I had both already agreed to regular rounds of copulation, if that was what it would take to promote the growth of Manticore. Yet, Colonel dismissed the idea, saying that neither of us was ready for such a task, and we would thus stick to frozen embryos and surrogate mothers, but in time, he would see what would happen.

Swiftly, Colonel Lydecker and I arrived at his office, where he eased himself into his comfortable computer chair, while I waited in the doorway, standing rigidly at attention. 

"Have a seat, 415," he told me, making swooping gesture to the seat opposite his large desk. "We have much to talk about."

"Yes, sir," I responded, sitting down across from him. Once I had done so, I nodded curtly towards him, and said, "Thank you, sir."

He laughed in the back of his throat as he sorted through some papers on his desk. At last, he found what he was looking for. Sliding a black and white paper across the desk to me, he told me to take a look at the photo.

Tentatively, I leaned forward, absorbed the details, then sat back in my chair; hands clasped firmly in my lap, never daring to wander anywhere else. "Yes, sir?"

"Have you ever seen this man before?"

"Yes, sir." I swallowed in anticipation. "Permission to speak, sir."

"Permission granted."

"I saw this man back in the Seattle plant, when I was still under the false impression that Manticore was corrupt. His name is Agent Sandoval. I remember him in the hallways."

"Correct. Very good, 415."

"Thank you, sir."

"The problem," Colonel sighed, leaning back in his chair as he massaged his obviously aching hands, "is that he has been working overseas with the Chinese to try to sell Manticore's technology."

"Sir?"

"Your mission, soldier, is to leave tonight-I'll have transport arranged for you, naturally. You'll go to Seattle and take him out. I want him dead by tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir."

"I feel that a month in full force training has prepared you well for this mission. You have progressed excellently in our instruction classes. Now, if you'd like to get some dinner, then you can leave immediately."

"Sir, permission to speak."

"Permission granted, 415."

"How would you like me to get rid of him, sir?"

"That's a stupid question, soldier," he snapped so sharply that I felt myself burn with embarrassment at my idiocy. "You should know that by now."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"How do you _think_ it should be done?"

Without even pausing to think, I immediately answered with my second nature emerging, "Tonight, when I arrive, I shall use a silencer to take him out while he sleeps. I'll then bury the body in the construction pit. That is, if that plan pleases you, sir."

"Very well done, 415. You are dismissed."

I rose to my feet, saluted, and began to turn away. But, just as I had reached the doorway, Colonel said-almost to himself-, "Your parents would have been proud of what you have accomplished." 

Slowly, I rotated back around, scrunching my eyebrows together in confusion. "Sir?" I asked, unsure as to what he was saying, for it was an unspoken rule never to discuss my horrid parents.

We met distant eyes, and he smiled faintly, almost in a daze-like state of mind. "Do you miss them, 415?"

I barely paused to consider my answer, quickly recalling the time when I had sobbed for them. When I had sobbed out of stupidity and weakness. "No, sir," I answered. "How can I miss what I despise, sir?"

He nodded slowly, before filing away the picture of Agent Sandoval in a thick portfolio. "Point well made. Now, go get some dinner. You have a job, soldier, and see to it that it is done well."


	20. Kill 'em Off

After a pleasing meal of pasta, a roll, and an apple, I went to my private room to retrieve a suitable outfit of a full length, black bodysuit. My hair was approximately down the tips of my ears, and therefore did not need to be tied back in a ponytail yet. I strapped on my military belt, and finished quickly, anxious to be on my way and start my first outside mission. The fact that Colonel trusted me enough to take out a high-ranking director-in another state, no less-was unbelievably thrilling. 

While the other soldiers ate quietly in the lunchroom, I headed down to the B floor to gather some suitable weapons. I instantly began to calculate what I would need, hoping that by chance, I would at least be allowed to carry more than one pistol with a silencer. After all, guns were indeed so much fun. Then again, a grenade or two wouldn't hurt things either…

I had just unlocked the weaponry with my private key given to me by the directors, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Barely flinching, I flew around, clasping my intruder by the wrists and flinging them to their back so that they lay on the ground, wheezing. I pressed my steel toed army boot heavily down upon their chest and narrowed my eyes in annoyance.

"What do you want, soldier?" I snapped.

"To be let up."

"How do you address a superior, soldier?"  
"To be let up, 415, _ma'am_," came the irritated voice. So, unwillingly, I lifted my combat boot from their heart and allowed them to stand behind me while I walked into the armory room so that I could pick out my prizes.

After several minutes of silence, I turned back around to face the person who had not left. "Would you like something, soldier?"

"To talk to you."

"X5-494," I snapped angrily, pulling down numerous machine guns and examining them cautiously, "in case you have failed to notice, I am rather busy right now. I do not have time for trivial conversations about your horrid life."

__

"Please."

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

Finally, he snapped, hissing, "Since when do you have to give _me_ permission to speak?! I can speak whenever I damn want to!"

"Hold your temper in the presence of a superior, 494." I commented, glancing over my shoulder at him. "I _will_ report you to the directors as I have already done for that romantic gesture in the photo developing room."

"Yeah," he growled under his breath, as his hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides. "Believe me, psy-ops was one hell of a thrill ride-"

"Watch your tongue," I added, running my finger over the flat side of a bounty knife. "Language is a blessing for your sake. I'd cut your tongue out right now," I mocked, swinging the blade threateningly in his face. He blinked nervously and moved away. Laughing evilly, I shoved the glistening dagger into my military belt. "But, of course, I wouldn't do that because you have lessons with those idiotic rogues to lead, and how in the _world_ would you yell at them if I cut your tongue out? That certainly would make life difficult-now, wouldn't it?"

"Look, this whole sadistic dictator is becoming annoying, so knock it off."

"What did you just say?" I asked, cocking a pistol.

"I told you to stop this damn act."

"_Act?_" I echoed, arching an eyebrow menacingly. "You think this is just an _act_?" 

"You don't even know who you are anymore, Alanza!"

I flinched unintentionally. "Who are you talking to?"

"You!" 494 nearly screamed, holding his hands out to plead with me for sanity. "You, Alanza, you!"  
In one furious motion, I slapped him so hard across the face that he reeled out into the hallway before slamming against the opposite wall, cradling his possibly broken nose. Blood dribbled down between his fingers, and I stormed over to him. Reaching down with one powerful arm, perfected by weeks of rigorous training, I raised him off the ground, leaving him gasping for air with my fingers tightening around his windpipe.

"In case you have forgotten, soldier, I am X10-415. You are to _never_ again call me such a disrespectful name. You do so, I _shall_ cut your tongue out, and maybe remove something else that you hold so dear," I added, kneeing him in the groin for an extra touch. "Are we clear, soldier?"

Nodding, while tears from the pain and lack of oxygen formed in his eyes, he gasped for air; his face was starting to look a little bit blue. With a bored scoff, I aimlessly dropped him to the ground and kicked him in the side, leaving him to bleed and vomit on his own.

Idiot X5s. Just had to show them who was boss every once in awhile because they pretended that they knew everything about the world, when, in fact, they were the ones who had it all backwards. Might as well kill 'em off entirely.


	21. Pesky Memories

After leaving 494 to snivel and bleed in the hallway, I boarded a private helicopter bound for Seattle. The two pilots and another director nodded curtly at me as I sat down in a relatively comfortable seat, stretching out my long legs in front of me, while I yawned tiredly. 

"To Seattle?" a pilot with a Mexican accent asked no one in particular.

"Yes. To Seattle," I replied, and snuggled down into my plush bench, anxious to get some sleep, for I knew it would be a long ride. I had my food to run on, so all I needed now was just a little bit of rest…

__

"Alanza?" he asked as he too, stood up. 

"Yeah, Dad?"

"When you get back, I…I probably won't be here."

"You're leaving?" I cried in disbelief as I twisted around to face him. 

"Mm-hmm."

"But why? Lydecker's dead. You got a family here. Us! Krit, Syl, Brin, Max Jr.…they're all here!"

"I know that," he acknowledged.

"What about Mom?"

"Look, Alanza," he began, glanced away at the floor, then back at me before continuing, "I may be your dad, and she may be your mom, but we won't ever be like…like…y'know…"

"Lovers?"

He nodded mutely. "We got mixed up together by mistake…no offense."

"None taken," I responded.

"She…Max… has someone that she loves. And it's not me-"

"Don't you still love her?"

"Of course I have. I always will. Just because I leave doesn't mean that I stop."

So, Elizabeth Renfro rose back to her feet and faced Dad again. "And Max? What is she to you? Girlfriend? Wife? Lover_?" she sneered._

"She's a mother," I finally said, stepping forward. There was a moment of stark silence that followed my admission. Elizabeth's eyes grew wide, then a crooked smile formed on her thin, aged lips.

"You must be the child that 'Deck died searching for."

"Perhaps," I admitted. I could see the anger flash in Dad's eyes, but I had to ignore it. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but seeing Mom alive. I thought that maybe if I was able to bargain with this psycho lady, she would free Mom.

"You are. You're his ultimate creation." She smiled warmly to herself. "I'm surprised you're alive after so many years. It was assumed that you were either an abortion or had disappeared into a far-off country."

"You wish."

"I bet you want to see your mom alive and well more than anything."

"Yes," I acknowledged.

"Well," she said, running a wrinkled finger over the bottom of her chin as she sat down in her overstuffed leather chair. "I can make that happen…under one condition."

"Which is what?"  
"I want a trade."

"A what?" I hissed, although I pretty well knew what she was getting at.

"A trade. Your father, one of these X5s, or yourself."

"Never," I growled.

"Then X5-452 will die."  
"Who?"

Elizabeth laughed evilly with a cackle that made my blood freeze. "Why, Zack, you haven't told your daughter all about Manticore? I'm ashamed. After all, she was to be the perfect soldier. I assumed that you would have filled her in on all of your days of glory back at Manticore."

Dad said nothing, but I could tell that he was quickly forming a plan inside his twisting mind. 

But, Elizabeth turned back to me. "X5-452 is your mother, dear. Max Guevara. Your father, Zack, as I'm sure you figured out is X5-599. Two of the most powerful soldiers that 'Deck ever created. And, you." She shook her head as she eyed me over like a prize to be won. "How did he ever manage to create you so well?"

All in all, the apartment was a war zone with dirty footprints on the walls, dents smashed into cupboards that hung lazily by broken hinges, and food that had been sitting on the countertop mashed into the ground. 

I turned away from the scene and was about to go into the extra bedroom, when something met my precise eyes. Scrambling towards the object that shone in the apartment light, I crouched down and picked up Dad's watch. Surprisingly, it wasn't broken or cracked, but perfectly in tact as if he had thrown it before blackness welcomed him in. An inner sixth sense told me that he had left it for me to find. I knew, then, that I was my family's only hope for escape from Manticore. After all, it didn't take a genius to put the puzzle together: Lydecker in the restaurant, James missing, and my family taken away. Mom was right; Lydecker was back and I waited one moment too soon. Had I not left to find James in vain, perhaps I could've saved them. Now, they were suffering because of me. 

"415? 415?" the voice called.

I groaned impatiently, rubbing at the corners of my crusty eyes. Outside, the moon was high in the sky, throwing out its pale rays to inspect the snowflakes that lay in perfected rows on the ground. Thin, scraggy trees caught the moonlight, then threw their shadows to the ground, blurring the glittering snowflakes. Far in the distance, past the point of mortal eyes, I could see the sun straining to rise and battle the moon for control of the sky.

God, how long had I been asleep? Finally, sitting up and stretching aimlessly while cracking every feasible bone in my body, I glanced over to Agent Stevens who sat across from me, with an eyebrow arched curiously.

"Sleeping on the job, soldier?" he asked.

"Preparing for a mission, sir," I curtly responded, popping my knuckles one by one.

I detested Stevens with a passion, and I made sure that he knew it. After all, I had caught him peeping more than once around some innocent X12s during shower time and watching them far too intently in practice; a fact that I had mentioned to Colonel Lydecker on numerous occasions. Colonel, trusting my good judgement, had then placed increased security cameras around the facility and gave me permission to do what I wanted to with Stevens if anything perverse ever happened again. Many directors believed that the Xs and I were nothing but a bunch of lab rats that could be easily manipulated and manhandled; Colonel understood that we had a purpose, for he loved and cared for us as if we really were his family. Some may have called him harsh, but in every family, rules are rules, and they thus must be followed.

Stevens ran a pale hand through his white hair that sparsely covered the top of his oily head. "You understand your mission, 415?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lydecker has briefed you on it already, I'm assuming."  
"Yes, sir."

"Good," he grunted and busied himself with staring out the window, trying to see the world below that his ordinary human eyes could not grasp. "We'll be landing in about ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," I responded, and let us both lapse into some much needed silence. Bored, I slipped into his head and discovered that he was occupied with wondering if his wife was out that Friday night because he had new girlfriend that he needed to see-and screw. 

I, though, was bothered about the dreams I had experienced. They seemed much more than just mere hallucinations, of which I had encountered before and was able to bat away with ease. The people, their voices, the scenery…Everything was so damn familiar. Fervently, I shook my head, convincing myself that they were just self-deceptions, and it was quite asinine to be worrying about something so pointless. 

As I looked down at the grinning icy world below, I wondered if-when I got back to Wyoming after the Sandoval mission-I could convince Colonel to sign me up for a psy-ops treatment. Obviously, there were still some pesky memories dancing around my mind, and I wanted them removed as soon as possible.


	22. Next to Die

As Stevens had stated, we arrived a mile or two outside of the Seattle base in less than ten minutes. The helicopter landed in a thickly dense forest so that the guards at the structure would not see us approaching. After a moment of slight hesitation, the engine was cut, and I cinched my belt tighter, doing a quick mental check of equipment as I did so, convinced that I was ready to leave. 

But, just as I had opened the bulletproof door, Stevens rose to his feet, having to slump, though, to accommodate the low ceiling. "415, take this." Turning around to see what he was offering me, I saw, in his hand, a tiny two-way that really wasn't much bigger than my transgenic eye.

"Why would I need that, sir?"

"Are you questioning me, soldier?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Take it," he repeated through gritted teeth, suddenly fuming for no apparent reason.

"No," I responded curtly, and without hesitation, jumped into the black snow, so that I would be able to disappear easily within the night.

Fully convinced of Stevens' inability to follow me, I jogged at a dull pace for some distance, not caring if he decided to try and follow my footprints. Besides, he'd only end up getting lost in the Seattle forests and then I wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. Yet, after several apathetic minutes of merely cantering along, I swung myself up into a tree and began to scamper from branch to branch, slightly unsure of my true distance away from the perimeter fence. If I was too close, the guards would see me on the ground-for that was where they would be looking-, and the last thing I needed was to screw up this valuable mission.

I literally flew through the trees, covering anywhere from ten to seventeen feet at a time, and never tripping as my hands caught the next branch, giving me a pivot upon which to swing my feet up. The exercise felt good to me, and I relished in how starkly the frigid air burned my lungs and nibbled at my cheeks, turning them to a bright red. Ah, but I would not be the only red thing that night, I mused silently to myself as I leaned against a trunk of a large pine, examining at the massive perimeter fence and building that lay before me. 

I was approximately one hundred yards away, and could see the area with blind ease. Security would not be a problem, for only few X7s and X8s marched inanimate circles around the border, barely keeping their tasers at full attention stance. What a bunch of lousy soldiers they made out to be. 

Leaping down from my tree branch, I landed in the snow in a low crouch, while mentally calculating the distance and speed I would need to take a running start in order to reach the roof of the place. Hurtling over the fence and shooting each of the pitiful warriors in the back of the head seemed far too easy, and I was looking for an actual challenge-not a day in the park-in order to prove myself with even greater efficiency to Lydecker. So, with my numbers having been rapidly figured, I stepped back a couple feet, took a running start and vaulted straight upward. 

I was airborne in no time flat. Soaring over the blind heads of baby soldiers, I kept my hands rigid at my sides, so as not to create wind resistance. In truth, I was unable to fly as birds could, but I merely fell with such grace and ease that it appeared I was flying. Yet, to the normal nitwit, I was sailing.

Finally, after my long pirouette in the stars, I landed without a sound on the roof, glancing around to pinpoint intruders; nobody had noticed me. 

From my back pocket, I produced a map that Colonel had given me of the Seattle plant. There were two skylights on the galvanized iron top, through which I could enter, but those led directly down into an open hallway and were thus moves I did not want to risk; steam poured out of an air vent, while a ladder led down into one of the public rooms, making an appendage off the plane I stood on. 

Plopping down, I spread the maps out in front of me, finding that Sandoval's room was on the A level, meaning that I didn't have to go climbing around too much and risk exposure. I placed my finger on the blueprint, tracing the path of the heating and cooling passages, hoping that I could get a direct route to Sandoval's room. Luck-if there was such an unbelievable hallucination-must have been with me, for all I needed to do was climb down an ventilation passage, crawl a couple feet, and I would be directly above the traitor's room.

As I shoved the maps back into my pocket, rising to my feet, I wondered if I would be able to withstand the heat that spewed forth from the vent. Of course I would. After all, I had the last one to faint from heat exhaustion in my training classes. So, taking a deep-and anxious-breath, I dove in.

The warmth wasn't nearly as bad as I had assumed it to be. In fact, it was only a rough ninety degrees Fahrenheit with the air blowing powerfully in my face, causing my eyes to burn and water with the irritating sensation. I tilted my head down, plastering my nose right up against the floor of the vents so that I could not only avoid going blind, but I would be able to count the squares of light until I reached Sandoval's room.

After counting three individually lit sections, I reached my destination. Pressing my acute ear to the floor of the vent, I listened to Sandoval talking below-in Chinese, no doubt. Fortunately, I had learned most-if not all-of the main languages for undercover jobs. I was still a little bit shaky on my Arabic, and the Egyptian hieroglyphic readings weren't quite precise, but I figured that knowing over twenty different languages fluently wasn't bad for someone who had finally "seen the light" only a month ago.

His Chinese-a Mandarin dialect, I presumed-was jagged and harsh, but I was able to interpret it nonetheless. 

The bastard would die.

"Lydecker…Yes, he's in Wyoming right now…No, no, don't worry about him…Yes, I'm sure…He's old. He'll die easily…Hold on, I've got a call coming in on the other line."

I heard the phone buttons click, and he began to talk in a flustered English. "Agent Sandoval…Yes, this is he…What are you-No…No…She couldn't have…?! Where would she have gone?…Yes…Yes," he murmured, scratching down notes on a pad of paper perhaps. Meanwhile, I, having taken the opportunity while he was distracted, gently-and quietly-began to pry the corners of the seal off so that I could jump down and spring attack. "Lydecker sent her _here? _What the hell for?…Betraying Manticore…" He snorted in disgust. "Believe me, this battle isn't over…Yeah, thanks for the update, I'll keep a watch."

Then, he once again changed lines and began rambling on in Chinese. Bored with the discussion, I waited until he had hung up the phone and, after he had done so, he began preparing for a quick nap at three in the morning. Immediately, I tore the lid off and flew down into his room, throwing him onto his bed, where he stared at me with incredulous eyes.

"4-4-415," he stammered, attempted to crawl away.

"Good evening," I replied, pulling out of my belt a syringe. Gently, I fitted the necessary poison into it, and tapped the signs with a mock doctor's authority.

"What do you want?" he whispered, licking his dried lips.

"You," I hissed. "You betrayed Manticore." I shook my head dismally. "Silly boy. You should know better than to turn against those who can kill you."

He was just about to scream when I plunged the needle into his right jugular, sending his collapsing on the floor, where his body seized once, then lay ultimately still.

"Huh," I mused to myself, fitting the needle back into its proper placement. "That definitely wasn't glucose."

With a groan, I heaved his pompous body up onto my shoulder and poked my head out of the door, checking for empty hallways. Seeing that the corridor was blank, I dashed down it, remembering where the construction pit was located. 

The pit was a muddy mix of dirt and snow, creating a dull mixture of brown. Seeing a shovel stuck under a heap of snow, I tossed the body down the hill so that it rolled with thickened gestures, flip-flopping every which way. As I had promised Colonel, I shot Sandoval right between the eyes and instantly blood spouted everywhere-onto me mainly-followed by shattered bones and grimy brains. Far in the distance, the sun was rising far too rapidly, and I began to dig like mad.

An hour and a half later, covered with blood and dirt, I returned back to the helicopter, where Stevens gaped at me in shock at my disheveled appearance.

"My God, 415…"  
"Yes, sir?" I asked, lowering myself down as if nothing had happened onto the couch opposite him while the engine started up in the background.

He paused, considering his answer before waving his hand and muttering, "Nothing, nothing, soldier." 

I eyed him suspiciously as he turned away, never suspecting that he would be next on my list of assassinations because he was getting far too close to Colonel and I. Stevens never thought that I was on to him. Laughing quietly to myself, I thought that it was humorous how he had assisted in the murder of one Agent, when he was going to be the next to die himself.


	23. A Better Future

The next day, I was waiting in the exercise room that was used exclusively by 416 and I, impatiently wondering when he would arrive. He was supposed to arrive at 1300; it was three minutes after our meeting time. Finally, in swift, gallant strides, he came through the door and smiled as he approached me, offering me his outstretched hand.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized with a flashing grin.

As I accepted the traditional handshake, I asked, "Where were you?"

"Overseeing some X6s who were being trained in aquatic battle."

"How long did they last underwater?"

"Six minutes."

"That's it?" I responded in disbelief.

He nodded. "Yes. Terrible-isn't it?"

"Definitely."

Bending down to tighten his shoelaces, he looked up at me, peering through strands of thick blond hair. "How did your mission with Sandoval turn out, 415?"

"Satisfactory…But, Stevens is too close."

"Stevens is always too close."

"He's going to have to learn."

"Has Colonel given any orders in regard to Stevens?" 416 questioned, implying whether or not we should kill him as he rose to his feet.

"No," I sighed. "Not yet." I paused, watching him looking at me. He was such a brilliant soldier-both in and out of the fighting ring-that I found it hard to believe that I had hated him before. "Let's get down to work, shall we?"

"Agreed," he nodded. "Are we doing guerilla style or formal?"  
"Let's try guerilla. We've done formal all week," I replied, feeling my muscles instinctively tighten with anticipation.

"Excellent choice." 

Ceasing our talking, we each took a crouching stance opposite each other on a large blue mat that covered nearly eighty and three-fourths percent of the floor. Our hands came up close to our face to protect from blows, for in guerilla style fighting, anything went. Formal involved sticking to the promise of not injuring the person or letting them free when they pleaded for mercy; guerilla could be bloody. 

I personally detested formal.

In a flash, 416 lashed out, aiming directly for my face. Quickly, I blocked his blow and succeeded in grabbing his wrist in the process. He, though, collapsed to the floor, falling directly on his back and flung his hands above his head, which loosened my hold so that I ultimately let him go. Curling his powerful body back up, he sprung to his feet, already poised to attack again.

I was right across from him in a mere fraction of a second, glaring into his freezing eyes. Once again, his shot his arm out, and I managed to stop him. Soon, we were involved in a punching frenzy, throwing vicious shots at each other. Mentally, my brain screamed rapid directions at me that I was able to follow with ease. Right upper hook. Damn. He blocked it. Aim for the temple. Watch out for-Blood running down my lips! Out the nose. Going to have to get a bandage for that later. Wait. He's pausing. Seeing if you're all right? Move!

In a motion too fast to follow for the normal human eye, I brought my fist directly into his nose, causing an equal amount of blood to spew forth from his. Kicking outward, my foot made contact with his rock hard abdomen, causing him to groan in protest. He, though, grabbed me by my ankle, and I twisted horizontally in the air; my jagged hair spiraled outward in all directions, as I pivoted back around-in mid-air, mind you-to have my opposite heel make contact with his chin. We both tumbled onto the ground, falling a good distance away from each other.

Immediately, we snapped back up to a erect stance and circled each other, not seeing our breeding partner and friend, but an ugly, despicable enemy who needed to be destroyed. In a flash, I brought my foot up and smashed him in the side of the head just as he had vaulted himself into the air to spring upon me. The blow fazed him, and we both tumbled to the ground, landing nearly on top of other another. 

Just as we had rolled back around to continue fighting, the door opened, and we both looked up in surprise.

Colonel Lydecker, moving with his slow, arthritic gestures, entered, beaming down proudly at us. We both burst off the floor, coming to full attention with our hands raised to our foreheads in a perfect salute.

"416…415," Lydecker acknowledged, coming closer to us. "Nice to see you both today…At ease soldiers."

In congruent movements, our arms dropped, came around the back, and we stood with feet apart, neither of us saying anything. The blood had, by this time, stopped running in such frantic rivers now and was merely a dried brown crust around the end of our noses and over our lips. 

Colonel Lydecker studied us over for a moment, obviously observing the blood, our mangled clothing, and mussed hair, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he merely cleared his throat, leaning against the wall because his joints were in such agony that he could not stand for long periods of time.

"I want you both to get some decent showers, clean yourselves up so that you don't look quite so animalistic and head out to the barracks. There's a director coming from the Chicago facility in about an hour, and he wants to see how we are coming along in our technology. So, you two-along with some others-are going to be out practicing in the yard. Understandable?"

"Yes, sir," both 416 and I said at once.

"Ask questions?" Colonel asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Yes, 415?"

"What about the snow, sir?"

"We've cleared an area out on the back cement lot so the snow will not be a hassle. Just make sure you dress warmly."

"Yes, sir."

"Any questions, 416?"

"No, sir."

Colonel paused, watching 416 curiously for something that I wasn't sure of. Regardless, he shook his aching head and told us to go on and get our showers.

Male and female showering was fully accepted inside of Manticore as just another lesson to complete; the only exception to that situation was when the females were in heat and needed to be separated from the males. Nudity was never a problem either; you simply took your clothes off, got clean and you were done. I had yet to understand why some of the people had difficulty with such a simple task. 

416 stripped off his gray shirt and threw it onto the sink stations, where he placed the remainder of his standard military clothing as well. Then, he padded into the shower area-which was a large rectangular room with showerheads positioned on each of the walls-and began to wash himself. By the time I had gotten undressed and examined my nose for any signs of breakage, there was so much steam I could hardly see anything. Yet, in a couple minutes, my eyes adjusted, and I could see the deeply muscled and horribly pale 416 scrubbing his armpits with a rich white soap.

Not caring about him, I grabbed an identical bar of soap, which was located in a side compartment, and began lathering up my own naked body as he made conversation. Despite what other soldiers whispered about him, 416 was truly a good person; it wasn't like he had ever asked to be head commander of the army, but he-like I-accepted the fact with grace and humility. Our duty was to serve Manticore anyway, not to serve ourselves. 

"How do you think practice went today?" he asked me, easily speaking in such a cool manner because of the many years of Common Verbal Usage he had taken. I, on the other hand, was merely able to use slang and rough language with simplified ease because of my years out in filth and degradation.

"Pretty good," I shrugged, as I ran a finger over my leg, trying to determine if my feline DNA were going into overload again, or if I was just being a normal female with leg hair.

"I think we've improved a lot."

"Me too."

"Do you think Colonel will let us go overseas?"

"I highly doubt it," I said, fully convinced that the technicians hadn't removed all of my body hair that was caused by my absurd genetics.

416 sighed almost in sadness. "You're right; he'll probably send an older soldier."

"Well, what good would it do him if we were gone?" I argued. "Who would he have to uphold this place? X5s?" I laughed, which caused him to snicker at as well.

"They certainly are stupid," he agreed, rinsing off the soap from his slicked body. "Have you worked with 701, yet?"

"No."

"She was one of those rogues that escaped in '09," he commented off-handedly.

"Oh," I replied under my breath. "One of _those_."

"Yes. Apparently, back then, her specialty was explosives. Colonel said she could create, initiate, and disarm a bomb all in under two minutes."

"Impressive."

"Now, she won't even touch one. I had to grab her hands and force them onto the bomb, ordering her to start it. She won't. All she does is look at me with an asinine stare as if she had just gotten out of psy-ops."

"Maybe she did."

"No; I checked her medical records. Only one treatment of psy-ops and that was back when they first brought her here in December. That was over a month ago."

I shrugged, not caring about the state of a rogue X5's mental status. "Anyhow, do they really matter? Seriously, they're just as bad of an anomaly as the X2s were."

"I must agree there."

Turning his shower off, he walked towards me, running his fingers through his hair, so that he shook water droplets off like a wet dog would. Hearing him approaching, I turned around and found myself standing directly in front of him, while the water ran warmly down my back.

"Besides," he said to me with a faint smile that was highly uncommon for such trained soldiers as himself, "_we_ are going to recreate Manticore aren't we?" Without truly thinking, he reached down and rested his wet hand on my abdomen, where our child-Manticore's new hero-swam, unaware of his or her destiny. 

I clasped my hand over his, letting the hot rain fall down upon us. Droplets trickled down our scarred faces and onto our finely toned muscles, while tendrils of steam swirled up and around us, almost as if a translucent bind that promised us we were joined for life whether we wanted to be or not. 416 and I never thought of each other in a romantic way because we were indeed only breeding stock to give way to a better future for our home, but the child I carried brought us together in more ways than I could have imagined.

"Yes," I smiled, looking up into his brown eyes. "Yes, we are."


	24. Only if you Force Them

After dressing, 416 and I walked proudly down the hallway together, both of us knowing that we were being envied by the many soldiers who could only dream of undertaking the tasks we both accomplished. Since we were so highly respected, directors did not have to escort us from place to place; Colonel did not have to monitor our actions; and other older soldiers couldn't have told us what to do. In short, we could do whatever we damned well pleased and get away with it because Colonel would defend us, arguing that, without us, "Manticore would cease to see another ten years". 

So, as we were walking in long, intrepid strides down the corridor, a group of mixed X11s and X10s passed us, marching with exaggerated steps as an X6 barked orders at them. They kept their arms bent at their sides, formed into upward little fists, and they stared straight ahead, for it was a well-known fact that not keeping your eyes forward was a deadly sin. 

I had just glanced over at them to mock their insolent manners, when one of them met my eyes. Her own dark brown irises widened, and she immediately jumped out of line, running straight towards me. Like mine had been, her nearly black hair was shaven into a soldier's crest, and her cocoa skin was free of any blemishes or scars, showing that she was obviously a good little soldier and hadn't fought the directors. 

"Wait!" she cried out to me, her strangely accented voice commanding the attention of her leader, who immediately began to bellow at her. He stomped over to where a perplexed 416 and I stood frozen, watching this worthless soldier run up to us. 

"What you doing, soldier?" he barked at her.

"I-I-I," she stumbled, glancing hesitantly from me to her leader.

"Get back in line!"

"Hold on," I responded, resting my flamboyant hand on his arm. "Let me take care of this."

416 shot me a confused look, but smartly kept his mouth shut. The X6 captain looked appalled to see me, and in a flash, he brought his hand up to his temple in a full salute.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, and turned away to take care of the rest of his unit.

The girl looked absolutely horrified and on the verge of tears as her squad marched away, leaving her alone with 416 and I. Finally, when the rest of the soldiers were out of earshot, she flung her arms around me in a disgusting hug, crying, "Oh, I knew you'd come! I just knew it!"

Repulsed, I grabbed her sharply by an arm and literally threw her off me, leaving her to tumble against the wall. "Solider," I snapped. "What was that?"

She blinked, confused, then answered, "It was a hug…My God…What'd 'dey to do you?"

"Absolutely nothing. State your designation," I ordered.

"My what?"

"Your number, you worthless piece of dog crap! State your designation number before I send you back to your captain for him to beat! State it!" I barked, loving how her big eyes grew all misty, and she bit down on her trembling lower lip.

"X10-799."

"X10-799, what?"

"X10-799, ma'am."

"Very good. Now, what were you doing stepping out of line?"

"I was-I just-" she stuttered, then stopped and met my eyes-a horrendous crime if there ever was one-and whispered, "Don't you 'member me?"

Before I could answer, 416 slapped her directly across the face, sending her reeling into the wall. Quickly, I grabbed his forearm to prevent him from hitting her again, but allowed him chastise her so that she would get the hint of how to act when in Manticore.

"How do you address a superior, soldier?" he snapped.

She whimpered pitifully and struggled to regain her disorientated balance. "Don't you 'member me, ma'am?" 

"Am I supposed to?" I asked with piqued humor.

"It's me…ma'am."

"Who is 'me'?"  
"It's me. Max. Please, you 'ave to 'member, you just 'ave to," she swallowed nervously, "ma'am."

"'Max'?" I echoed. "What is that supposed to be?"

"It's my name."

"Your name?" I barked a hoarse laugh, rolling up my eyes to the ceiling. "Soldier, in case your tiny brain hasn't figured it out yet: Your designation number-your _name_, if you will-is X10-799. This figment of being called 'Max' is stupid and asinine." Harshly, I stabbed my finger into her collarbone and continued, "I'll let you get away with it this time, seeing that you at least know how to properly address a superior, but next time, 799, you won't be so lucky." I paused, waiting to see if 416 had anything to say, and when he didn't, I finished, "Now, soldier, go to the rest of your squad; they're probably down the west wing by now. Hurry and tell them that X10-415 and X10-416 kept you busy and that was why you were late."

"But you are-" she began, then, seeing my menacing glare, she sighed heavily and began to start in a slow trot down the hallway.

"Rogues," 416 lamented next to me. "They never learn-do they?"

"Oh, they'll learn," I responded, still watching 799 hurry away down the hallway and feeling the strangest sense of foreboding pass over me. "They'll learn only if you force them to."


	25. There's a Rogue Here

Outside, the foreign directors were already lined up on the sidelines, muttering quietly to Colonel and some miscellaneous people that I didn't care about. A variety of different soldiers ran about; some fighting and boxing stupidly at each, while others merely demonstrated how fast they could run or jump…All of it was was just a bunch of parlor tricks. Nothing extraordinary.

416 separated from me, and went to talk to Lydecker about a new mission that was being planned to take down a group of immigrants which had hacked into the Texas facility two days ago, while I sauntered about, aimlessly watching the rest of troops at work. A few of the younger children looked up as I passed them by, but nobody said anything. No one dared to say anything. Yet, just as I had reached the end of the cement pad and was ready to turn back around to continue my frivolous flaunting, someone purposely cleared their throat next to me, trying to get my attention. 

Slowly-with definite boredom-I turned in the direction of the person and arched an eyebrow. "May I help you?"

An older male with black hair brought his aged hand up to his forehead in a slow, impatient, salute and responded, "Permission to speak with you, 415." 

"What about?"

"Permission to speak, ma'am," he repeated.

"Fine. Here? Or in private?"  
"In private, please, ma'am."

"All right, come with me," I ordered, and took him back inside the building where I led him into a side room and closed the door behind us, waiting for him to speak.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, obviously forgetting to add "ma'am" or "415" to the end of his inquiry. But, I decided not to jump on him for it-not yet, anyway. 

"What kind of question is that?" I asked, flicking the lights on behind me.

"Please, 415, answer it."

"No, and nor do I care to know."

"My designation number is X5-711."

"And your point, soldier? That you don't know how to address a superior?"

"My point," he responded with a hint of annoyance in his voice that slid past his darken skin, "is that you should know who I am."

"I don't _care_ who the hell you are."

"You should."

"Don't make me hurt you, soldier. I've already sent an X5 to psy-ops and the hospital with a broken nose, along with giving an X10 some severe nightmares who tried to make me believe she was something that she wasn't-"  
"So, Max has found you, then?" he asked.

"What? Her designation number is X10-799. Respect that now, or else I _will_ call Colonel and 416 in here to help take care of you."

"It doesn't matter anymore. Besides," he shrugged, "it'll do me some good to leave this place. Oh, and by the way, her name is Max, not 799." He glanced away, looking out the window behind me. "We've been planning this for awhile."

"What are-Who do you think-" I sputtered, fuming unimaginably. "You're telling _me_ what to do?"

"And _my_ name," he responded, "is Krit." Stepping closer to me, he continued in an angry hiss, "I am not 711. Max is not 799. You think 416 and you are really all that intelligent, but, let me tell you this much: I've been here before. I know the rules of Manticore. I know how they play and think and act. Believe me, you meeting Max and then me isn't any coincidence. I know how to get around here in this hellhole. 

"My siblings are gone. _Gone_. My fiancée-who I loved more than anything-is gone as well. But, you…you-out of all us-who had _never even been_ to Manticore before this, you are the one that triumphs. You should have been _killed_. They should have eaten you alive just like they did to the rest of us. But, that's the thing I can't figure out. You were the new one without any experience here, and somehow, you've managed to _flourish_ here."

Swallowing because, for a brief moment, I had felt emotions that I was unable to slap away, I challenged, "I don't know who the hell you are. I don't know what you and your little friends have planned here, but you're going to pay for what you've done."

"No," he whispered, "it won't be like that." 

"Is that so?" I asked, then, in a flashing movement that the old X5 could not catch, I whipped out my electric stick and jabbed it harshly into his worn side. He bellowed in agony and crumpled to the ground, madly shaking as the voltage ricocheted through him. Finally, when he was still, did I lift my two-way to my mouth and say, "There's a rogue here who assaulted me. I want him taken care of…now."


	26. The Battle is Ready

I waited with 711's unconscious body until a group of normal men came to take it away. They glanced up at me suspiciously, but said nothing, having been silenced by years of discipline and harsh work. Besides, I wouldn't have said anything in return.

I was curled up on the windowsill, with one leg hanging off handedly askew. My arms, deeply mutilated from glass shards in an experience that I dared not remember, were wrapped around the leg that was sitting on the sill, and I rested my fuzzy head against the kneecap, staring out into the white iridescent snow.

I hurt. 

And I hated to admit that little fact.

The pain had started down in my stomach, slowing unfurling its poisonous tendrils while that man had talked. It rose into my throat, burning with every pitiful swallow of acidic saliva I took, then finally, it began to invade my brain. Agony and distress played tennis with my mind, batting it back and forth, chortling to each other as to how they could break me.

But, I didn't want to be broken. I wanted to stay where I was. Everything was so perfect, and I couldn't bear to part with it.

Everything that horrid man had said was true. He did know the rules of Manticore, while I was only getting lucky because of my superb genetics. He had lost his family, and I was living the life of luxury. 

I wanted to remain X10-415 because I loved my power. I loved how when I would look people in the eye, they would stammer and become all nervous because, "415 had spoken to them". I loved how the little female soldiers would look up at me and point, saying, "That's who I want to be when I grow up".

Biting down on my lower lip to prevent myself from grotesquely sobbing, I sighed and looked out the window. Suddenly, behind me, I heard, "415? Are you all right?"

Whipping around, I saw 416 standing in the doorway. He rested his left hand on the frame, and reached out towards me with his opposite hand. "415-" he began again, but stopped, perplexed as to why I would be so utterly weak. "Did that rogue hurt you?" he asked, which was, of course, an absolutely asinine question, but I decided not to push it.

"No," I whispered, trying to pretend he wasn't there. Trying to pretend that he didn't see me at this moment. God, couldn't he just go away?

Finally, he came towards me and stood a few feet away, scared almost, as to what was happening. "Do you want me to put in for an order of psy-ops? I'll do that for you. Get whatever's bugging you out of your hair."

"No, no…" I replied, waving my hand to dismiss, which he grasped in his massive hands. With unexpected tenderness, he pulled me to my feet and stood, with one arm wrapped around my waist. Caught off guard, I inhaled sharply unintentionally as I stared up at him, causing him to grin sheepishly. 

"Sorry…I…I didn't…" he stammered. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"I know," I replied, gently pushing myself away from him. God, the memories were starting to launch themselves full force at me. Man with brown hair…dancing in an apartment…loving him…Dad's watch…Mom getting engaged to a cyberjournalist…camping trip up north…when the world breaks. "Look," I responded, "that X5 just got to me a little bit more than I had hoped."

"Anything I can do?" 416 asked.

"Just get me a nice cold M-16 and watch me work," I replied sarcastically, causing him to look at me queerly, not understanding. "No, seriously, I think I just need to maybe go back into psy-ops or some other brainwashing sequence…I'm going to go crazy if I can't get the memories out of my head."

"Ok, I'll ask Colonel about it later. In the meantime, he was going to tell you this himself-but he's busy entertaining the directors from Illinois-so he had me and come to give this message to you."

"What?" I asked, brushing some mussed hair out of my eyes. 

"There's an X-something or other that needs to be taken care. I was going to go and do it, but Colonel's trying to keep me busy with directing the ones out in the yard. So, if you could go and take care of it, that'd really be appreciated."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Apparently went psycho, screaming." He shrugged. "I don't know, Colonel didn't relay the full information to me."

"It's probably that X10 from this afternoon."

"Probably. But, anyhow, it's down in the basement, so I'd get moving if I were you."

"I'm on my way," I said, starting to head out the door. But, just as I had turned the corner, he called out, causing me to pause in the doorway.

"415?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever need anything, you know that you can ask me-right?"

I smiled back. "Yeah, I know." And, hurriedly, I disappeared down the hallway, figuring that maybe punching some insolent X around would take my mind off of the memories. So, I departed in a brisk jog-taking the stairs instead of the elevator-and soon, I had broken into a light sweat, and was feeling rather pleased with myself. After all, 711 hadn't known what he was talking about. He was delusional, for godsake, and of course he was an X5 to begin with, thus, making him even more susceptible to lying and saying he was a thing that he wasn't.

Just as I had reached the basement and slowed to my usual sashay, I began to hear horrible screams that managed to chill even me to the bone. Speeding around the opposite corner of the long dark hallway, came an extremely overweight director who was puffing heavily. Seeing me, he lurched to a stop and sighed heavily. 

"Oh, thank God you're here, 415," he gasped. "I don't know what to do to it anymore. Fight. Fight. Fight. The thing won't listen. The boys are busy with it now."

"Get them out of there immediately, sir," I commanded, snapping back into full authority. "I will not have ordinary soldiers gathered around me when I am working."

"As you say. Just follow me."

I followed him around a corner, which led us down a dead end hallway, where, at the end, animalistic screams were generated from behind the door and men hollered, "Stay back! Stay back!"

Fat Man knocked rapidly on the iron door and called inside, "Get out now! 415 is here!" And with one flourish of his flabby hand, he whisked the door open and three rather terrified men came stumbling out. Some had torn clothing, others were bleeding from nose wounds, but I ignored it all and stepped directly into the lions' den.

At first, I was totally prepared to be attacked, so I remained poised with my pistol drawn. Instead, though, I saw, not a horrendous monster, but a starved, emaciated X male shivering in the corner. He was standing, with his bleeding and extremely bruised head laying against the wall with his eyes rolled upward to Heaven-if there ever was such a thing. Just as his quivering pupils locked onto mine, he slumped dumbly to the ground, gasping, "I can't fight anymore…Kill me if you want…." Although he was barely still conscious, his beaten eyes, which were sunk deep into his body skull, peered up at me beneath shaggy dark hair. Then, his eyes widened, and he managed to croak out, "Alanza? Is that you?"

In a flash, the memories blasted into me like a massive Californian tidal wave, and I reeled across the room, swooning unimaginably as bright, blinding colors swirled before my eyes. The pain exploded so rapidly that I could not stop it, letting it seize through my body, splitting me apart, and the tears that I could no longer hold back erupted from within. I sobbed and screamed all at once, as X10-415 began to die, while the men outside the cell, fearing that I had been attacked, pounded on the door to be let in. The world danced around me, throwing memories as token gifts, and I slumped to the ground, holding my face in my hands, wailing and sniveling like the soldiers I had mocked for so long. 

And I remembered.

I remembered Mom and Dad and Logan. I could see Krit, Syl, Jace, Brin, Alec, Max, Case, and James. 

I saw them all. I saw their lives. I saw their deaths-which, caused me to cry even harder. 

I saw myself then. I saw Alanza Guevara smashing through the glass to save her father, and having 415 take over her body instead. The murders I had committed with such efficient ease while I believed I was serving Manticore. How I had beaten Alec, when all he was trying to do was save me, Alanza, from 415. How 416 and I had ridiculed little Max, slapping her around as if she was nothing. God, the horrors I had rendered with such satisfaction…I knew it all. I knew it, and I feared it.

Clambering dumbly to my shaking feet as my body howled in pain, for it had just murdered 415 and let Alanza emerge, I approached the dying X and scooped him up in my powerful arms, while he stared up at me with incredulous eyes. Finally, he wiped away my tears with grimy hands, and saw me as what I really was. He wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, breathing in my military scent, and knowing all that I had done and would never do again. 

"You're alive," I whispered. "You really are alive."

"And now," he responded. "I think it's time that we become free as well." We met intense eyes, and he smiled briefly, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. "You know your power now, Alanza. The battle is ready, and now, it's your turn to fight it."

"I will, Case, I will."


	27. Kill for Her Family

All my life had unknowingly revolved around one single moment. I had been created artificially, as an unwanted fetus for Mom to take care of; I had been born with the hope of bringing Mom and Dad together, when neither of them truly wanted me; I had lived each and every day, blindly searching for something that I didn't find until my return to Seattle. Every precise minute that I had lived and died was all in a vain preparation for my greatest feat-not only as Alanza, but as the nuclear warhead of Donald Lydecker's transgenic army. 

I was to destroy the enemy.

This time, the enemy was Manticore.

I clutched Case tighter to my chest, trying to fight back insane tears, and knowing that I had little time to talk to him before I would burst out and knock the horrid guards unconscious. The anger inside of me battled with the sorrow, wondering which one was going to break me first. I had a suspicious feeling, though, that the rage would destroy me, but the tears would heal my fiery flesh.

"You're alive," I repeated stupidly to Case. "I can't believe it…They told me you were dead."

"Naturally. How else do you break a prisoner into a weak psychotic sniveling ball? Mental traps. You thought I was dead. You were _supposed_ to think I was dead." He coughed weakly, and I felt the tremors vibrate down his spine where my fingers held him close. Had he been left another week in that cell, hunger and misery surely would have killed him with ravenous ease.

"You were right," I whispered, barely listening to the bellowing the men outside who slammed their thick fists against the iron door, causing it to sing in its echoings. "You knew all of this was going to happen. And it did. My world broke, and I did terrible things and I-"

Case gently laid his dirty hand over my mouth, shushing me. "Alanza, I know. But, there isn't time for that right now. We have to move-all right?"

Nodding blankly, I shifted Case awkwardly to my opposite arm and turned towards the doorway. The men peered through the thick bars, their beady little eyes questioning my every move. In one violent flash of my leg, I smashed through the door, throwing it right off the hinges, and sending it flying into Fat Man. The heavy door hit him in the gut, causing him to groan and then lay still underneath it. 

An African American man lifted a two-way to his lips, ready to report that 415 had rebelled and was taking the X10 prisoner, when a swift upper cut knocked him unconscious to the ground. The other two remaining men backed away nervously before turning and fleeing. Out of my side military belt, I whipped out a taser, for I didn't want to kill the men, and instead sent them seizing to the ground, shrieking like babies in pain.

With Case still slung over my shoulder, I walked up to the two barely conscious men and grinned down, pulling my lips back into a feral sneer. "See? That's what it feels like to us, too. Maybe you guys should try a much friendlier version of electrocution." And, gingerly, I stepped over the bodies and began to bound up the stairs, covering at least four at a time.

At the top of the many stairs, I peeked out of the door, watching as the directors passed by, never dreaming that their top soldier had turned against them and was planning to overthrow all that they had done. As 416 strode past, I swore under my breath and crouched down, pressing my back against the door with Case slumped beside me.

"Take me as your prisoner," Case whispered, although he could not have spoken loudly had he tried.

"What?"

"You have handcuffs in that belt of yours-don't you?"

"Yeah…Ah, clever. Very nice."

"Just make sure you can get them unlocked," he winced as I clicked them onto his wrists. Due to the fact that he was so horribly thin, the metal circles could have easily slipped up to his shoulder bones that poked grotesquely out beneath the skin. God, he was so strong, and I was so horribly weak.

"Here, I'll give you a key. Besides, I have a feeling we're going to be separating because I've got a lot people to save, and I don't want you getting hurt."

"Sorry I'm not more help," he coughed into his cupped hands. 

"I don't care. I'm just glad you're alive," I responded, opening the door and giving a few quick head-checks. 

Proudly, I marched down the hallway in fake arrogance, nearly pulling Case after me, all while saluting some directors with forced grins until I reached the corridor I needed. Case could barely walk, which pained me to see him in so much agony, but I could not show pity for him, for then it would be clearly evident that Alanza Guevara was back. 

The hallway's lights were dark, indicating that nighttime was soon approaching, yet I could easily see my way around. Setting Case gently down and unlocking his handcuffs, I pulled out a massive key-ring that had been given specially to me by Lydecker. Of all the people to kill…I fumed angrily to myself, flipping through the nearly hundred glittering brass metal pieces that jingled in the darkness. Finally, I found the one I was looking for, and immediately unlocked the door, pulling Case in after me.

Inside the solitary confinement cell, a single female lay on her cot, singing softly to herself. Singing softly to herself of long ago rock stars. Singing softly of a group that sounded like a baby's chew toy. On the side of her face was a deeply marked bruise, which moved me to tears because I had been the one to cause it.

"Max?" I whispered, crouching down. "Max?"

She slowly turned to look at me, then when she saw who was speaking to her, her eyes immediately widened, and she jumped back, falling to the ground in homage.

"Please don't hurt me," she begged. "Please…I'll do anything, ma'am."

"God, no, Max, it's me, Alanza. Get up," I said, as my voice cracked with the onset of tears. "Get up, we've got to get going."

"Please, ma'am," she whimpered.

Tenderly, I grabbed her by the hands and pulled her to her feet, where I met her fearful eyes. Her brown irises quivered in utmost fear and her hands were freezing, probably a pale blue shade in the cold, despite the natural brown tone her skin took on. "Can you ever forgive me?" I asked, knowing that I had caused this destruction of her spirit.

She stared queerly at me, searching my face for any signs of lying or false promises, and when she found none, she whispered, "It really is you."

"Yes, Max, yes, it is."

Fiercely, she wrapped her arms around me, while I embraced her with equal zeal. "Alanza…" Pressing my nose against her fuzzy head, I smelled the long ago suntan lotion and garbage in the park. My best friend, and I had nearly killed her…

"We have to leave…now," I told her, stepping back so that I could once again clearly meet her eyes.

She nodded blankly. "Yes, yes, we must leave."

Slowly, I moved over to where Case lay against one of her walls, barely conscious. Seeing that it was he, Max immediately rushed upon him, crying and kissing him. Case muttered something that I didn't bother to catch and smiled faintly with his wistful encouragement, accepting her kisses as eagerly as she gave them to him.

I waited until they were done with their much needed reunion before I walked over to the both of them, crouched down, and said, "Max, you're going to take Case straight down this hallway until you reach a set of double doors. Take the left door. That door will take you down into the basement, where you'll find some windows. Push out the window in the east most direction-you can't miss it. This will take you directly outside. The X7s won't be on the east side of the building because the forest comes right up to the perimeter fence. At least, there shouldn't be too many. If you see one," I said, handing her my pistol, "shoot it."

"But I-"

"This is our one shot at ultimate freedom. We can't blow it," I stressed to her. Pausing to watch Case struggle to stay awake, I asked, "Do you understand?"

She nodded and with a groan, picked up Case, who moaned in pain. "And what about you?" she asked, clearly worried about my safety.

"I'm going in the opposite direction. If they're sending out soldiers, they're going to come from the direction I'll be heading in. You should meet up with little-if any-resistance."

"Good luck, Alanza," she whispered, starting to walk away.

"You too, Max…" I replied and immediately began to move swiftly down the hallways, a silver pistol held dangerously out in front of me. If questioned, I could say I was searching for an escapee; if provoked, I would murder. Although X10-415 was dead and would no longer kill for fun, Alanza was alive and kill for her family.


	28. Juice, of course

I met up with nobody, which was an unexpected fortune, for the corridors were always highly patrolled, but I accepted it as a blessing from the Blue Lady, and relentlessly continued onward. My hands were sweaty around the handle of the gun, and I was breathing heavier than I should have been, but I could not fight the emotions that rose, accompanied by the knowledge of what I was truly doing.

In my mind, I had already formed a mental checklist of the people I needed to save. Max and Case were already taken care of, so now it was onto the parents. Laughing under my breath, I remembered how-in high school, mainly-teachers and other adults were always bitching about how teenagers could do nothing to help their parents and always got into trouble with drugs and gangs instead. Well, eat this world, I bit, and quickly flew down a flight of stairs to the C level floor, where most of the still mentally intact X5s were kept. Hopefully, Dad would still be on the C level. Otherwise, it was going to be some major searching.

Two guards met me, but both were knocked unconscious in a matter of mere seconds, and I began to pick up my pace, knowing that security cameras were abound, and I was running on borrowed time. 

Fortunately, each room was labeled with the X5 it contained, and, since all the keys were identical, I merely opened up the cells and released my family with ease. Syl met me in a gigantic hug, while tears formed in the corners of her eyes-which were identical, having been released of the horrendous burn mark. Her once luxurious blond hair had been butched to a sharp, straight bob, making her appear much more aggressive than she really was. Jace, with shorter hair as well, studied me oddly, wondering when and if I would attack. 

"Where's everybody else?" I asked, moving with them down the hallway as I fervently kept on glancing over my shoulder.

"Zack and Max are somewhere else because they've been used as top breeding stock," Syl remarked, an irritated tone in her melodious voice. "Krit's been taken somewhere because he got hurt today…I heard," she replied, giving me an odd glance, which caused me to wriggle in my skin.

"And Brin's become one of them now," Jace added, refusing to look at me.

"So I heard," I muttered, remembering Dad's fateful words the night the world broke. "All right, now do you two know how to get out of here?"

"Sort of," Syl replied as we gathered in the hallway. Rapidly, I repeated virtually the same directions to her that I had given Max. Both Jace and she nodded earnestly, eager to be free.

"Now go," I ordered them. 

Jace was ready to leave, but Syl paused and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, her blue eyes searching for face for something that she could not find. "Alanza, I heard what happened with Krit. If you're going to lead us all to our deaths, kill us now with a bullet to the brain. I don't want to be lead on like this."

"That wasn't me," I protested.

"Then who was it?" Jace asked, obviously remembering the time when I laughed at her during psy-ops.

"A monster that had eaten my brain," I curtly responded. Then, with a defiant shake of my bristled head, I continued, "You have to leave…_now._ Lydecker finds us, we _will_ all be lead to our deaths. Now go," I hissed, and they quickly darted away.

Since neither Krit nor Brin was where I had expected, and Mom and Dad were off in nomad's land, it greatly interfered with my precise plans, but I tried to convince myself that everything would turn out all right in the end. Nearly a month in Manticore had to be enough penance for all the awful things I had done in life, so a happy ending had to be in my future. God, burning in Hell couldn't be much worse than Manticore.

One of the few things I had riding on my side was the fact that I knew the Manticore facility like the back of my hand. I could pinpoint every single area within a matter of seconds, knowing where everything from the X7s' shower-room was to the rogue's psy-ops room. And, I could only hope that my secret of turning against Manticore would stay unrevealed until I absolutely had to turn against my once so called temple. Everything was precariously balanced, and the slightest speck of dust could tip the scale, resulting in my instant death.

Still, I pushed any pessimistic thoughts I had dancing through my head at the moment aside because the very last thing I needed was to be getting cold feet when I had already plunged head first into the biggest project of my life. Inhaling deeply, I turned down the closest hallway, knowing that Krit would have been taken into solitary confinement on the charges that I had so wrongly accused him of.

I found his cell with swift ease, for I could hear his mental lamenting halfway down the corridor. With a curt flick of the key, I could able to unlock the door and slip inside so that I was able see if he was well enough to escape on his own. I still had to find Mom and Dad, and they were, of course, the most important people to begin with. Then again, grabbing Stevens and shoving a bullet through his eye wouldn't be too bad either…No, no, I insisted, we don't think like that anymore. That's 415 talk. Not Alanza-ish. Bad girl.

Lying on the tiled floor, breathing shallowly, Krit was sprawled, staring upward at the ceiling. There were dark bruises mottled across his body, and his lips were dry, cracked and bleeding, exposing the ever perfect teeth. But, it wasn't until I knelt down beside him and shook his shoulder, did he blink and glare at me with threatening eyes. Having never seen him look so ominous, I hesitantly backed away, scuttling nervously across the covered floor.

"You..." he hissed.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded as he rose to his feet even though he was still fairly unsteady from the high voltage of electrocution the guards had most likely shot through him. "You have to believe me. They brainwashed me. They made me-"

"They made you do nothing!" he snapped.

"Please, I'm sorry." I was nearly crying now because I feared that he wouldn't leave with me, thus forcing his blood upon my head. "I want you to come with me-"

"You destroyed us all."

"No, no, that wasn't me."

"Why should I believe you now?"

"I'm begging you…Krit. As Alanza Guevara, I am asking for your forgiveness."

He blinked and a flicker of confusion passed over his face. "What?" he whispered, obviously shocked at what I had just said.

"It's me, Krit. You have to believe me. I just freed Max Jr., Case, Jace, and Syl, your fiancée. They're on their way out right now. I'm here to free you, too. Just trust me."

He paused, wrinkling his forehead in great confusion, for he knew that I was not to be trusted, yet he also knew that a true Manticore soldier definitely would not have said what I had just told him. Then, he broke into a wide smile, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. "It really is you-isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Wait. Just to make sure, I've got to ask you something."

I swallowed nervously, praying that he wasn't about to attempt to bash my face in. I was so close to freeing everybody, and I couldn't screw it up. Resting my hand on the cool metal doorframe, I turned to look at him and asked, "What is it?"

"Now this is something that only Alanza would know: Which is better juice or milk?"

He laughed as I responded, "Juice, of course."


	29. Kill or be killed

We crept out of the cell cautiously, both glancing in every direction for any guards who could have caught wind that I was freeing my family. Yet, since I saw no one approaching, we slithered out of the cell and began to make our way hurriedly down the hallway. Just as we had moved a few feet in one direction, there was a scratching of feet from behind, and suddenly, Krit was pitched forward, over my head, and I was forced to my knees with a gun at the back of my head.

"Give it up," a voice hissed, and I felt my stomach heave, knowing who it was.

"Brin, no."

"Alanza, if you think you can sway me with trivial names just like you were, you're wrong."

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

"Don't turn against Manticore, Alanza," she responded in almost a whimsical plea. "We'll still let you come back. Things like this can be overlooked."

Krit was sprawled on the tiled floor a couple feet in front of me, and had at first appeared to be unconscious from Brin's volatile blow, but I then noticed that his eyes were barely opened, so that it was indeed only an _appearance _of being inanimate. All I had to do was give a signal and he would run. Brin though, was too intent on making me come back to Manticore or killing me to notice that her brother wasn't quite as lifeless as she would have hoped. 

"And when I come back? What will happen then?" I challenged.

"You can have your life back. Your real life."

"This _is_ my real life," I hissed, making deliberate eye contact with Krit so that he knew that his time to run would be approaching. 

"No," Brin snarled and shoved the tip of the gun deeper into my skin causing me to wince in pain. My own firearm was still cradled in between my fingers, fully armed and ready to kill if necessary. Yet, I was sincerely hoping that the situation wouldn't come down to that.

"My family is my real life, not them back there."

"What about 416 and the child, Alanza? Perhaps you can deny 416 and forget him, but can you really forget about that child that's inside of you right now? Can you?"  
I bowed my head, hating how horribly truthful she was. "No," I whispered, "I can't."

"So, come back with us."

"Brin, I-"

"Alanza, we _are_ your family here. Who else knows you better than us? We love you; we want you here with us. Your baby needs a home, and we'll provide one for it."

"And then what will I become? Nothing but a breeding tool for 416 to screw over and over as I pop out kid after kid. No. I will not come back to Manticore."

"Be reasonable."

"I _am_ being reasonable!" I shot back, twisting my head around just so I could catch a quick glimpse at how diabolically wonderful she looked, having been perfectly cured of the Progeria. She was ghastly beautiful. "You and your Manticorian friends tortured Dad, sent Mom off the deep end, tore Krit and Syl apart, destroyed Case, killed James, and ruined the rest of my family! And for all of that, I could forgive you. I could overlook it as just 'a glitch in the military madness'. But, what I cannot and will not overlook is what you did to _me_. 

"You stripped away everything I ever was. I couldn't laugh, smile, cry or even talk because of what you did to me. I was shaven, tortured, attempted to be brainwashed, impregnated, and deceived. In short, you _murdered_ me, and for that, I can never, ever, forgive. Which is why it is time for me to leave." 

In a flash, I shot my legs out behind me so that I ended up kicking Brin a good distance down the hallway. Krit, seeing that I was going to take care of Brin, sprang to his feet, giving a curt nod in my direction before hurrying away. I, though, barely had time to reciprocate his gesture before Brin was back up on her feet, dancing dangerously around. 

My fingers flickered over the trigger of my sleek gun. Personally, I didn't want to kill anybody, but I had a suspicious feeling that if I valued my own life, the gun would be extremely handy. Come on, I reminded myself, you murdered a top agent, all you have to do now is defend yourself. Yet, that thought was immediately smacked back into the depths of my brain with the harsh reminder that 415 had murdered Sandoval-not me.

Without warning, Brin hurled me against the opposite wall, pressing the tip of her own gun against the top of my chin so that I could feel the protrusion through the bottom of my mouth. I cringed in pain, feeling hot tears pool in the corners of my eyes as my breath came out ragged and harsh. 

"Join me?" Brin taunted.

Pain or no pain, I somehow managed to find enough energy to suck my air back and spit directly in her eye. She reeled backwards, disgusted with my display, which gave me just enough leverage to bring my fist smashing upward into her nose, causing blood to erupt. Brin bellowed an animalistic growl furiously, aimed her gun at me and shot.

In a flash, I dove out of the way, but unfortunately not soon enough, for the bullet grazed my upper forearm, causing me to scream as well. I collapsed to the ground, wincing and screaming from the agony, as she scuttled down to point the gun at my face.

"If you won't join us alive, you might as well join us dead," she hissed. Her eyes were wild with excitement, widened and incandescent, while beads of perspiration had formed on her pale forehead, which was smothered in strands of thick black hair. I didn't see the lovable Brin, but the devil instead. 

I saw what I had been.

There was a low popping noise that echoed off of the empty walls, and suddenly Brin pitched forward, collapsing on top of me, as she clutched at her chest where her blood poured onto me. Her eyes rolled backward into her skull, revealing their grotesque whites, and a low moan escaped her lips as if she was trying to say something in her last minutes of life. For a moment, I was absolutely paralyzed by fear and disgust, then I slowly rose to my feet, pushing the warm body off of me, and to the floor. 

Timidly, I crouched down and kissed her on the forehead, whispering through pursed lips so as not to cry, "Brin, I'm sorry." With that awful admonition, I dropped my gun that had been used to murder her-by my own hand-and hurried away down the hallway. 

Kill or be killed.


	30. Don't Leave Me

As I was making my way down the C floor corridors, the alarms began to sound with the cry of soldiers in the background. Cursing under my breath, I rapidly began to pick up the pace, knowing that I could no longer hide with a shot arm and blood smeared all over the front of me-and I certainly didn't plan on taking off my shirt. It was time to kick some major Manticore ass.

Whipping frantically around a corner, I found myself face to face with 416 who stared at me incredulously, obviously unsure as to whether kill me or persuade me to come back with him. He held a gun directly out in front of him and gaped at the blood on my shirt, although I was sure he had seen blood on somebody before.

"415, what are you doing?"

"Not now," I snapped back and, pushing past him, I continued down the hallway before throwing open the door to room C37 and dashing inside. Panting heavily, I hurried over to the pair of doors where Dad had been and searched for the button to open them. Furiously, I slammed my shaking hand against the silver little knob, and the doors opened to reveal absolutely nothing. No Dad. No table. No torture devices. I was ready to scream from absolute frustration when 416 entered, closing the door curtly behind him. 

He strode steadily over to me as I slammed my fists against the glass where Dad had been captured and rested his hand comfortably on my shoulder. "Damn you," I hissed to the glass, barely even noticing 416 behind me. "Damn you" It wasn't until he asked what I was doing, that I ceased my swearing.

"Banging my hands against the glass-what does it look like?" I shot back.

"415-" he began, but I lashed around, causing him to back away hesitantly.

"My _name_ is _Alanza_," I hissed, approaching him with tears that bled from fiery eyes down my face. 

"What?" 

In one blinding moment of rage, I clutched him by the collar and pushed him down on the operating table that was without a corpse. His eyes had widened in surprise at my aggression, but I could not sense a single molecule of fear within him. He was, indeed, very good. 

"My name is Alanza," I repeated, pressing my leg against his as he bent backwards onto the silver operating table, which glittered in the dim light. His hands were pressed tightly against the top of the metal, while mine were almost around his massive neck.

"415, what are you talking about?"

His question was so innocent-not at all filled with the mocking humor of Lydecker or the rage of the other directors that had beaten me when I was still in the right frame of mind. Yet, I nearly exploded nonetheless under his inquiry.

I pressed my face close enough to his for us to be kissing, and curled my lips back, disgusted with being called "415", and I whispered in a vehement hiss, "I am not X10-415, daughter of X5-599 and X5-452. I am not a nuclear warhead. I am not breeding stock. I am not a brainwashed solider. I am Alanza, daughter of Zack and Max. I am a nineteen-year-old girl who loves her motorcycle. I am not ready to have a child that I do not want. And I have been named to be ready for a battle that will come whether I want it to or not."

He blinked once, never letting his intense eyes wander away from my face. Obviously, he was shocked, but not terrified. Finally, he pushed me away with one harsh shove, and walked stiffly over to the front of the glass room where Dad had been kept, and 416 looked inside, trying to find something. I watched him with curiosity, wondering what he was planning to do, when he abruptly turned around, facing me with wild eyes.

"They've gotten to you-haven't they?"

"Who? My family? No. This is me."

"They did this to you. They made you forget who you really are."

"They made me remember," I shot back as we began to involuntarily circle each other in slow, defiant steps. 

"Remember what? How weak you truly are as your mortal counterpart?" His words meant nothing to me, for he was simply throwing me the old lines that had been ingrained into him ever since he was old enough to listen with interest. He didn't really know what he was saying. Everything was so automatic now: Deceive the prisoner. Capture the prisoner. And above all, make sure the prisoner does not know more than you. Well, problem with that plan was that I knew just as much-if not, more-than him.

"This 'mortal counterpart' you speak of," I replied through narrowed lips, "is stronger than X10-415 shall ever be."

"I highly doubt that," he scoffed.

"Oh really?"

"Really. Come with me, 415, and I can cure you of this mental disease."

"No," I shot back.

"Then I will _take_ you back." And with that, he thrashed outward. 

I grasped him firmly by the wrist, preventing him from hitting me, and twisted him around, and I was almost sure that I heard some bones dislocate in my bending procedure. With his opposite arm, he tried to swing at me, but I ducked, pulling him down with me. In flickering gestures, we smacked at each other, producing bloody noses and dark bruises. At last, I grabbed a hold of his shoulders and began to attempt to push him around. He was growling in the back of the throat, wanting my hands off of him, but unsure as to how to do so without hurting me in the process. In the back of his brainwashed little mind, he loved me in the only way he knew how-as a soldier. Dancing around the room together, both of us blindly shifting from foot to foot, each of us determined to bring the other one down.

As I gave him one violent push that was produced from my anger and sadness, we smashed backwards through Ben's glass container. As he fell, he vainly tried to clutch onto something, but instead ending up bringing all of the body parts in containers to the ground. The glass erupted all around, spewing rancid formaldehyde upon us. Blood mingled with the brown tinted liquid, and 416 laid at Ben's feet with a shard of glass through his upper forearm, wincing at the horrendous pain. On the top of his head, a bright line sliced through his skull, revealing little exploded arteries and quivering nerves, while 416's body began to shake spasmodically as the poisonous brine soaked into his flesh. 

There was a low hissing sound in the background, suddenly a spark as the electrical cords that 416 and I had damaged in our fight began to react with the flammable liquid. The miniature lightning bolts gave me an idea. Without truly thinking, I grabbed a lighter from my military belt that was only supposed to be used for starting dynamite, flicked it on and tossed deadly little flame into the pile of formaldehyde, knowing that Manticore needed to be destroyed at all costs. And what better way to start than with the prized king of Manticore-416? 

The flames shot up around the bleeding X10 who was fighting weakly, easily devouring the flammable liquid that was strewn across the shiny tiled flooring. 416 could barely stand due to the fact there was a glass shard straight through his upper arm, and Ben's dead eyes stared down at the fallen soldier. Almost instantly, dark smoke began to curl up and around the ceiling as the dead bodies-and body parts-began to char, being freed of the years in their immortal prison. The orange flames made shadows on Ben's green legs, and I turned to leave, knowing that my parents were held hostage somewhere inside Manticore.

I had just exited the door and was prepared to bolt down the hallway to save Mom and Dad, when a voice from inside the ensanguined blaze called out to me. A voice that prohibited me from leaving that man to perish in the inferno that I had created. And, it was what that voice said that drove me back inside the flames to pluck the glass from his arm and pull him to his fumbling feet:

"Alanza, don't leave me."


	31. I'm Always All Right

So, I had an ally. Not a very trustworthy ally, mind you, but I had a partner in crime nonetheless that I could point an innocent-scorched-finger at and blame the collapse of Manticore upon. The true question came as to who would be the one that Lydecker would believe, and who would be the one to go to psy-ops and mental torture.

Behind us, the inferno blazed with fiery hunger, and the alarms were wailing, signaling the approach of soldiers. 416 and I ran down the hallways, skidding due to the rapid speed we were traveling at, before clambering back up to our feet, and continue on moving. Gunshots rang out from the soldiers that were attempting to bring us down, and tasers hissed with ominous electricity. Yet, by the time the other troops took aim, 416 and I had turned down another hallway, losing them with efficient ease. 

Just as we began to dart down another hallway, a man came out of his cell, rubbing at his eyes-obviously having woken up not too long ago-, and muttering something. Unable to stop quickly, I did a full-force body slam into him, throwing us both to the ground, where we slid across the floor before stopping against the wall. 416-understanding that the fire would not hesitate to kill us-grabbed me by the hand immediately and pulled me to my feet.

Yet, I stopped him from taking me away, panting and sweating as the fire began to crawl down the path we had taken, while the soldiers ran back to Lydecker to find some other people who would be able to handle the flames better. I walked over to the fallen man, stuck out my hand, and helped him up. 

"You coming, Alec?" I asked as we met steady eyes.

Nervously-because he certainly didn't want to be kneed in the groin again-he glanced from me to 416 and back. "Coming where?" 

"Out," I responded.

"Out? You mean, like, escaping, 'out'?"

"Uh-huh." I was jumpy and agitated because I still had to find Mom and Dad, and the last thing I needed was to be talking to good old Alec with the fire closing in. "You coming or not? I got to keep on moving."

"What about him?" Alec asked, giving a curt nod in 416's direction. 

"He's with me."

"Really? I'm finding that hard to believe-"

"Look, we can talk about that later. If he's going to turn evil, I've got two pistols on me that can kill faster than he can. All right? Now, for the last time: Are you coming or not?"

Once again, Alec glanced at 416 before focusing his eyes strongly on me. His tanned skin glistened with sweat from the ever-rising heat, and his blond hair was mussed, indicating that he had probably been sleeping before I came hurtling down the hallways. A gray shirt stretched taunt across his muscled chest, and firm arms wrapped themselves defensively around him. He believed I was feeding him another line of 415 bullshit, but he wanted me enough to follow. 

"Fine, let's go," he replied, and we took off running. 

I was in the lead with Alec on my left-a little ways behind for he was older and not nearly as fast as X10s anyhow-and 416 was on my direct right. The fire had started with an unbelievable speed, and I wondered what was causing such a fury for it. Then, I remembered how some of the men had been repainting some of the walls so that the foreign directors would believe that this facility was much nicer and newer than it really was. The paint was probably flammable, which did indeed, assist in feeding the fire. Briefly, I swore under my breath, and hurtled around another corner, knowing that Mom should be around this area-if my plans were going according to what I had earlier speculated. If she was still in solitary confinement in the basement…She'd be burned before I could get to her. My stomach involuntarily heaved, and I forced myself to be more optimistic.

As we turned the corner, gunshots rang out in front of us, where a group of a dozen or so soldiers took aim and fired at us. Instinctively, we whipped around and began to head back in the direction of which we came. Unfortunately, the three of us were now trapped between a group of shooting soldiers-which we might have been able to fight, but time was valuable, so fighting them off was not something that needed to be done-and between a blazing fire, which we could not fight, no matter how hard we could have tried.

Through the flames, I was able to see a door leading down to the next floor. I turned to Alec, and panted, "All we have to do is get through those flames, and we'll be fine."

"In case you haven't noticed," he shot back in an irritated manner, "those things will burn us to a crisp."

"No, all we have to do is run really fast through them, and we should be set. The soldier won't follow us."

"How fast is that?" 416 asked.

"I don't know," I replied, my head spinning from the idiot gunshots. The smoke was suffocating, and I couldn't think with the horrendous headache that was quickly forming. "On the count of three, we're all going to run through there. Just close your eyes and run. Simple enough," I said. Alec shook his head, mumbling something about how crazy we all were, and 416 merely nodded, surprisingly accepting my orders. "All right guys," I breathed. "One…two…three…go!"

It's truly amazing the amount of time it takes for the brain to send a message and for the remainder of the body to react. It seemed like an eternity before my feet left the ground, causing my muscles to burn with abrupt constriction. Horrid acid rose in the back of my throat, and I felt like I would vomit and scream all at once. 

I was running through flames.

I had to be out of my mind.

Suddenly, everything around was blistering hot, and I smelled a sickening burning smell as my hair fizzled, twisting into little blackened strands. The heat was so intense that it felt like I was burning on not only the outside, but the inside as well. My cheeks were flushed worse than being caught with a red stain on the seat of your pants during "that time of the month", and blisters popped and sizzled on my now raw skin.

Then, there was a whoosh of cool air, and I was leaning against the iron door just beyond the flames, gasping and wheezing, barely standing as my head spun from the smoke. Nearly a second later, 416 emerged from the flames, equally charred with his hair blackened and all visible body hair dissolved into ash. I glanced over at him, slightly pleased that he had survived, then focused my attention back on the fire, which was rapidly approaching us. A few more minutes, and we would be burned as well. C'mon, Alec, I thought, c'mon…

In the distance, the gunshots began again, for, although the men could not follow us through the flames, they would at least try to get the goods they had came for. Just then, there was a ghastly bellow, and Alec fell through the flames, scorched and bleeding. Crimson plasma was splattered over the back of his gray shirt, and he lay face-first on the ground, gasping for air. 

In a flash, I was down at his side, urging him to his feet. "Alec, we have to keep on moving," I whispered, hating the hellish feeling that told me that he would leave me eternally. 

"Listen to me, Alanza," he replied, grabbing me with a hot hand as he forced his head off the ground, "leave me here. You need to keep on moving."

"I can't. You have to come with us-"

"No, I'll slow you down. Find your parents. Get out."

"I won't leave you," I responded, as my voice cracked with the onset of tears. "You saved me, Alec."

"Alanza, listen to me and listen to me good: You don't have a lot of time. I'm old, I've lived out my life in Manticore." He winced unintentionally as the pain waved through him. "You're young. You have a shot at life-no pun intended." With one hand, he reached up and caressed the side of my face, and I leaned forward, so that our noses touched. Tears built in the corners of my eyes, and I wished that Alec would stop being so sentimental and be his typical self. I didn't like this serious Alec. "I'm lucky that I met you, Alanza, very lucky…so do me one favor."

"Anything…"

"Remember me." Then he lifted his eyes to meet 416's and nodded-soldier to soldier-, and said, "Get 'er outta here."

416, being the good little pawn that he was, grabbed me by the hands and pulled me to my feet. I fought him, crying out for Alec because I refused to let that cocky X5 die when I could save him. My voice caught in the back of my throat, and the tears began to flow faster than I would have wanted. "Alec! No! Let me go! Let me go!" I bit and kicked at 416, but he was stronger than I, and opened the door at the end of the hallway and closed it firmly behind us, understanding the security of a fireproof shield.

On my side of the door, I crumpled to my knees, banging on the door with my blistered and bloody fists-Alec's blood, for that matter-and I wept. The tears burned my blistered flesh, while 416 just stood off to the side, watching me curiously. 

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.

I sighed deeply, resting my heated forehead against the door, listening to the crackling of flames that were eating away at Alec's body, trying to convince myself that he would have indeed slowed us down. He was older than me. He was a jerk. He had tried to use me before for his own sexual advantages. 

He had saved my life on more than one occasion.

I firmly believed that, had I not kissed him, and-dare I say it-loved him and lusted after him, he wouldn't have followed me. He wouldn't have followed because he knew that I would never give him a chance at life. Briefly, I remembered when he had first kissed me as he had told me that we were going to Gillette together. Had he loved me or was I just another one of his conquests? I would never know.

With a reluctant heave, and fighting back immense tears, I pushed myself to my feet, turned to 416, and forced a weak smile. "I'm always all right."


	32. You Came Back

"We have to find my mom and dad," I mentioned to 416 as we jogged down the hallway together, both exhausted and weary, but somehow suckling energy from the adrenaline that streamed through our bodies to survive.

"Who are they?" he asked, glancing away from me and down a passing exit.

"Zack and Max."

"Who?"

"599 and 452."

"599 and 452…" he mused, slowing down to a complete halt. "I don't know where 599 is, but I can tell you where 452 should be."

"Where?" 

"We have to go down a floor-to the breeding rooms-and she should be there. C'mon, let's go." And once again, we took off. 

By this point, the alarms were just part of the background noise and soldiers would occasionally rush at us, only to be knocked unconscious by a swift upper cut or kick in the head. On more than one incident, I would destroy the security cameras by shooting an ephemeral bullet through the lens, causing the instrument to spark as it died away. The fire had not yet reached the lower floor that we were on, yet I had a suspicious feeling that it wouldn't be long before my heated destruction would arrive. I could only hope that the others that I had freed were outside by then.

In the floor that 416 lead us down, I could hear the piercing cry of babies, and the moaning of mothers that were subjected to vicious labor. Instinctively, I raised a quivering hand to my mouth and gasped. "Oh my god…I never…"

"You didn't know this was down here?" 416 asked, giving a hurried glimpse every now and then to the numbers on the outside of the starkly sanitized doors. 

"No…I didn't even know the floors went this low-well there was the basement, of course- but…"

"They probably didn't you want here down here interacting with 45-Ah, here we go," he responded, stopping in front of a door with the number X5 on the outside.

"How do we know it's her?" I asked.

"It is; she's the only X5 breeding stock that they've still got. After all, the X7s are clones of the X5s but 452 has absolutely no junk DNA, so she's a perfect specimen."

"Don't talk about my mom that way," I warned. "Let's just get her and go."

"Fine." And with that, he began to pull on the door handle, willing it to open. Unfortunately, he could not open the door-even with his strength. Exasperated, he turned to me. "They've started lockdown."

"What?"

"The directors know that there's a fire, so they've closed every door so that the people can't escape. Releasing them into the real world would have drastic effects."

"But what about my mom?"

He paused, not wanting to save her, for that would certainly waste time, but I continued to glare at him until he reluctantly sighed. "We have to find a computer to override the lockdown, yet the nearest computer's up on C level or A where nothing's closed yet. We have to get going before-"

"No, I'm not leaving without her."

"But the lock-"

"We're going to smash the door down. You know damn well we have the power to do so, so when I say 'go' we're both going to ram directly into that door."

"I-"

"Don't argue with me right now!" I screamed, my nerves inevitably shot and frazzled. "I am thisclose," I said, shoving my fingers, which were about a half an inch apart, in his face, "to freeing my family, which I have not seen in over a month! Do _not_ tell me I cannot save them because I will! I will, with or without your help! Now," I hissed, lowering my voice immensely, "let's move, _soldier_."

He grit his teeth, figuring that if I wanted to play Kamikaze pilot, then I might as well do so, and we both turned to face the door, backing up a considerable distance so that we could fully ram into it. "All right," I said, "let's go!" And with that, we both took off at the most volatile speed that we could possibly manage and hit the white door with all of our strength. Something gave a low popping noise, and suddenly, I was lying on top of the door-on the ground, that is-as a dark haired lady stared down at me. Our eyes met, and when my vision cleared from the blow I had given myself, I realized who I was staring at.

"Mom!" I cried, and immediately jumped up to embrace her in a warm hug. "Mom…" She was disgustingly thin with hacked off hair that looked like it had been cut by the hillbilly salon down the road, and she wore a white nightgown with floppy black shoes. There were bruise marks on the inside of her elbow where a needle had been poked in to administer drug after drug.

"Alanza," she cried, "my Alanza." Our hot tears mingled with each other's, and all I wanted to do was be with her forever. Had someone said I was leaving her, I would have probably killed them from my immense frustration and sorrow. I had my mom back and that was all that mattered. 

She stepped back painfully with sore joints and held me at arm's length, examining me. "You're different," she stated.

I glanced down at myself, wearing a full combat military uniform, accompanied by blood splatterings across the top of my suit. The sleeves were charred and blackened, and my once shaggy hair was just a few miserable strands of shriveled worms. A gaping bullet hole with crusted blood around it was born upon my upper arm. My military belt was strapped proudly around my waist, and I realized just how lucky I was that the gunpowder hadn't exploded in my face when I rushed through the fire. All in all, I was bloody, bruised, and burned. 

"Yeah," I replied with a faint, half-hearted smile, "I am."

She reached up with one bony hand and stroked the side of my face, searching my eyes for the truth. I could see the tears glistening against her brown irises, and she gave a choked cry that sounded like a strangled laugh. "You came back," she whispered, "you really came back."

"Mom," I responded, willing myself not to start bawling like a child, "I never left you."


	33. You Ready, 'Lanzie?

None of us knew where Dad was. Mom didn't have the slightest clue, having been locked away for nearly a month and a half, while 416 and I merely had guess-timations that would lead us wandering around the massive facility. If we weren't on Manticore's Most Wanted List, and if the place wasn't burning rapidly above our heads, perhaps we could have split up to search for dear old Dad. But, as it was, time was valuable, and I didn't trust 416 enough for us to separate. The last thing I needed was to be reported to Lydecker and dragged away to psy-ops-or worse. 

So, we searched the floor, screaming out his name, and we didn't find-or hear-a single sign of him. Considering that there were at least five more floors to cover-and one and half were most likely destroyed-running around and screaming was going to get us nowhere quick. My nerves were shot, and I was on the verge of complete psychotic breakdown when 416 suggested that we head back up to C floor to hack into one of the computers. 

"If you hadn't noticed before, that floor does happen to be burning," I shot back.

"Well, where else are we going to get a computer?"

"There's a computer down here," Mom offered.

"Really? Where?" I asked, immediately brightening.

"In the nursery. The nurses used it to keep track of the babies' health records-although the door's probably locked down by this point."

"Mom," I replied, "in case you haven't noticed, locked doors don't seem to be a problem for us."

With Mom's assistance in finding the nursery that contained screaming babies, which thrashed their chubby pink legs in the air, 416 and I broke down the door again, which caused the bullet wound on my upper arm hurt even more. Still, we pushed on, moving past the babies, whose pain I found it difficult to ignore.

Without hesitation, 416 began to go to work on the computer, frantically punching numbers, while Mom peered over his shoulder so that if he tried to contact Lydecker, we would know in advance and be able to knock him out. I, meanwhile, stared with glassy eyes at the rows of helpless babies, realizing that my child was going to be born in a couple months, looking exactly like these children here. 

"Are they just going to leave them here?" I questioned rhetorically.

"What?" Mom asked, glancing away from the monitor for a split second.

"Are the babies going to die?"

Mom hesitated and was about to answer, when 416 interrupted with a curt, "Yes, they are."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid he is, Alanza."

"But these innocent children…They're just going to be burned?! We have to do something."

"What can we do?" 416 retorted as the computer beeped impatiently, waiting for an operator command.

"We can…uh…try to save them! We have to do _something_!" I urged.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," I replied, observing a baby with Oriental features like Brin's, sleep peacefully, unaware of the certain death that was approaching.

Then, 416 lifted his head from its intent position and glanced back at me. "599-"

"Zack," Mom corrected him.

"Zack?"

"Yes, his name is Zack."

I could see that 416 wanted to retaliate, but he chose not to, and continued onward in his usual nonchalant way. "He's in the basement. They've got him in stiff solitary confinement next to a couple of anomalies."

"Anomalies?!" I nearly shrieked.

"They want to break him," Mom explained.

"Well, enough with this damned chatting, let's get moving!" I cried and left the nursery, forgetting the babies' future pain, and began to speed down the hallway with Mom and 416 in tow.

The basement was still relatively cool, having not been affected by the fire yet. Unfortunately, its main structure was wood, which was a given fact, considering that it was built before the upper floors, and I knew that once the inferno hit the basement, we would be dead. Years of mold and decay were encrusted upon the walls, and rusted pipes jutted out and around mysterious bends. Every once in awhile, a piercing animal cry would echo down the hallways, causing me to shiver in my blistered skin.

"Which way?" Mom asked as we stood in what appeared to be an old, useless, boiler room.

"I-I'm not sure," 416 stammered, obviously hating that he wasn't infallible at his present task.

"Dad!" I cried out, and my voice rattled against the tarnished metal. "Dad! Where are you?"  
For a minute or so, we waited, wondering if he had received our message, or if he was too brainwashed and in such a stupor that he couldn't hear us. Finally, down one of the musty hallways, came a cry, "'Lanza? Is that you?" Although the voice was scratchy and mutilated, I knew that it was Dad. Immediately, I took off running in the direction that I had heard the voice come from.

"Dad!" I yelled. "Keep on talking so I can find you!"

Once again, there was a tense pause, and he responded, "At the end of the hallway! I'm down here!"

"Hold on! I'm coming!"

Behind me, Mom and 416 brought up the rear. I was seriously afraid that Mom was going to go into a seizure, due to the fact that she had not done anything since her arrival approximately a month ago, and overexertion could result in a violent sequence of shakes. 416, though, I could hardly care less about because I knew that he-despite the circumstances-would be able to handle himself. I was worried that Dad would be nearly dead, thus meaning that I would have to carry him, and I wasn't sure if I had the strength to do so alone because I couldn't depend upon 416 for help.

At last, we reached the end of the hallway, where his door crashed off the hinges effortlessly with a little push from us X10s, since the rust had long eaten away at the iron hinges. 416 smartly stepped back, fearing my father it seemed, while Mom embraced Dad in a surprisingly friendly hug. After all, I was sure that Dad wouldn't accept hugs and Mom wouldn't give them-especially to him-but they enfolded each other anyhow.

Although wobbly on his feet, Dad teetered over to me, and rested his large hand on my shoulder. "You ready, 'Lanzie?"

"For what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes in confusion.

"For battle."


	34. Spinning Into Horrid Blackness

And, so, we were together again. As could be assumed, there were some unspoken feelings of hurt and love between Mom and Dad, but there always had been, so I ignored those with bland ease. Unfortunately, the presence of 416 certainly did cause some ruffled emotions from both of my parents. 

Mom, not surprisingly, was the more forgiving of the two adults, because she had not only watched him assist me in ramming down her door, but also in hacking into the computer to find Dad. Overall, 416 had said barely anything since we saved Mom, except for an occasional muttering, and had not acted in any way that would prove him to be still under Lydecker's control. So, Mom, being the empathetic person that she was, accepted him with grace, although she was certainly not ready to hug him and welcome him to the family. She had been trained to be wary of strangers-especially those with barcodes on the back of their necks-and even if she refused to declare her training from nearly thirty years ago, she would always act upon the instincts that had been brainwashed into her from the very beginning of existence.

Dad, on the other hand, observed 416 with a stern glare that not only conveyed the hatred a father has when looking upon a man who shows interest in his daughter, but the fierce animosity of the X5 rogues against those that remained loyal to Manticore. He kept his distance from the X10, while at the same time making sure that 416 wouldn't dare to approach me with arms wide open. There wasn't a single doubt in my mind that Dad would kill the younger man without hesitation if 416 decided to pull something. Fortunately, though-since I didn't feel like cleaning up dead bodies and blood-I was the only one in our little foursome that carried any weapons. So, above all, Dad would remain Dad-quiet, unresponsive, and all around merciless when it came to strangers, despite what he inwardly felt.

We hurried down the dingy hallway as a mismatched group, resembling the group of four that Case, Max, James and I had been before everything collapsed. One was the enemy that nobody truly trusted, but had nonetheless helped-and killed-those that we knew. James and 416 were both of the outsiders of the group, whether it had been that they belonged whole-heartedly to Manticore, or that they weren't part of Manticore, they were suspected regardless. Both had loved me, and one came close to getting me pregnant with touching me, while the other had succeeded without ever touching me. 

Another didn't belong to Manticore, even though their blood was composed of stem cells and nanocytes, for all they really wanted was to have fun in life with the man they loved. They would fight if they had to, but it wasn't something that made their blood rush with excitement. Mom and Max, joined by their namesakes, didn't really want to be part of Manticore. Mom wanted to be with Logan for the remainder of her life; Max just wanted Case and her crazy rock stars. Sure, they could both fight, yet they refused to do so unless their life was in danger. After all, in their eyes, there was so much more to life than kicking somebody's butt.

The third was mostly quiet, keeping to themselves because they knew basically everything there was to know, but was afraid to reveal the information at the sake of hurting others that they held dear. Dad and Case were alike in more ways that I could count. Joined not only by Tinga's tragic death, Dad had also picked Case out of the many "family" members to accompany him on the trip to New York City on his forty-first birthday. Both were proud men that would rather drop mysterious hints than actually tell you anything, and were fiercely defensive of their family members.

Finally, there was me. I was and wasn't the person that I had been when my life only consisted of James, Max, and Case. That group had been destroyed the minute that we were captured by Manticore and instantly separated. Max was ripped apart from Case in the digging pit, where they were both forced to work; James lived the life of luxury, helping the men build a new facility before he finally realized that I was left behind, and came to save me-a move that ultimately cost him his life; and I had been tortured and attempted to be shaped into a perfected putty before finally crashing down into 415. 

The piercing cry of anomalies that reached with splayed fingers out of their cells caused my skin to instinctively prickle, and it was hard keeping my eyes on the path before me. Open sores dripped of blood and pus on their mutilated skin, and others were covered in such great amounts of animal hair that it seemed impossible that they would even be remotely human. A giant black cat slashed at the air in front of her, wanting to be fed, most likely, and hissed at the group of us as we hurried on by. Barks and cackles echoed forth from the cells where men with long brown hair and dog noses howled, and women with cat noses and curly blond hair whined. The unwanted. The unloved. Even in Manticore, the place where a person would typically presume that everyone was respected for their differences, the freaks and oddballs remained forever tortured.

At the end of the hallway were the windows I had told my other family members about. Freedom was at hand. The east most window in the row was pushed out with its glass shards on the floor and grimy fingerprints on the remaining iron bars that supported the frame. Strings of sharp blond hair had accidentally become entangled with the scraggly bricks, and I instantly knew that Syl had indeed come this way. 

"That's our ticket out," I mused, pointing to the broken window.

"You sure?" Mom asked, glancing over at Dad instead of me.

"I'm sure. That's where I told the others to come."

"The others?" Dad echoed.

I walked over to the window, plucked one of the blond hairs out, and handed it to Dad. "The others," I replied. "Syl, Jace, Krit, Max, and Case…they've all been here. Now, Dad, it's our turn."

"Let's go then," Mom said and clambered up onto one of the large boxes that was most likely loaded with ammunition. She poked her head out of the window, checking for any soldiers, and when she saw none, she glanced behind, and told us, "I'm leaving now. Don't hesitate." And with that, she sprang out of the window and across the snow, which was sprinkled under the dusky sky. I saw her shadow dance across the ground before she disappeared around the bend.

"You next," I nodded to Dad. He glanced over at me before following Mom's lead and disappearing out the window. His sobriety was slowing coming, but he was still shaky on his feet, so I quickly jumped up and onto the boxes to follow him. If he was killed…God, I refused to think about the consequences.

Just as I was prepared to leave, 416, from below, asked, "Are we really going to leave Manticore?"

I hesitated, one hand buried in the snow outside and the other resting on the dusty boxes. "What did you think we were doing?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think that you were going to let Manticore die like this."

"You mean burning? Hell yeah, I'm going to let it burn. The only thing that's distressing me is that there are hundreds of innocent people trapped inside that are going to die."

"You're betraying every minute of your training by doing this-you know that, don't you?"

I laughed cynically in the back of throat, looking out at the sky that was hinted with traces of morning. "I've always betrayed every minute of my training. Hate to break it to you, but destroying Manticore doesn't rank too high on my list of worries at the moments."

"But-"

"Look, if you want to turn me in, go right ahead and do it. March your little transgenic ass back up through the flames-try not to get burned too badly, mind you-and tell dear old 'Deck that 415 has betrayed Manticore. Go right ahead." Then, lowering my voice so that I spoke without such fierce harshness, "But, you're welcomed to come with me. See what the world outside of Manticore is like. Be free for once in your military life. You have the opportunity, so now it's your choice whether to take it or decline. As for me? I've got to get moving."

With another glance in his direction, I hurried out the window and began to dart across the snow. Dad was only a couple yards ahead of me, and a few feet away from the perimeter fence. Mom was in the rapid process of flying over the fence, while dozens of footprints showed that the others had clambered-or jumped-over the massive fence. Quickly, I began to pick up the pace, relishing in the excitement.

Out of nowhere, gunshots rang out, and Mom screamed, collapsing on the other side of the fence before gingerly picking herself up as she scuttled off into the woods, clutching her abdomen. I was unable to tell if she had been shot, yet my breath clenched within my throat nonetheless. The hissing of electricity was heard, and glancing off to my right, I saw a group of a dozen or so soldiers fully armed with pistols and tasers, heading towards us. The smoking building in the background screamed of dying blood and retained tears, as flames shot forth out of the roof, indicating that the fire had traveled from C floor up to A and was most likely heading through the propane vents. 

"Run!" I bellowed to Dad, who had slowed his pace to take notice of the approaching soldiers. "Just run, goddammit! Run!"  
Surprisingly, he didn't hesitate and, overcoming the days of torture methods, he burst into a full-blown sprint. His gray pants flapped in the wind, while hot breath was spewed forth from his parched lips. The image of Dad had dissolved away into a desperate man running for his freedom, and it was then that I realized just how much Manticore had destroyed my parents in the decades past. In any other environment, Dad would not have been running like a psycho for a chain link fence, but at Manticore, it was a fully accepted fact.

All of sudden, Dad's body contorted and he grabbed for his leg, while dark blood flowed where a bullet had sunk into the back of his thigh. He fell face first into the blistering snow, and tried to rise, but was halted by the onset of tasers. His body skipped spasmodically, while the devilish soldiers came closer, never ceasing in their throttling electricity.

"Dad!" I screamed. "Dad!" Bursting into a rapid run, I pushed past the soldiers and crouched next to the unconscious Dad, willing him to rise. "Dad! No!" We were so close, so damn close, and one microscopic bullet had to ruin it all? No, I thought with a mental hiss, not if I could help it.

Grabbing Dad underneath the arms, I began to drag him across the snow. Yet, I was to be outdone as a taser ripped through my midsection, plastering me against the fence as I writhed beneath the pain. Fortunately, weeks of torture resistance as 415 had made my electrical shock threshold much higher, and I was able to pull a gun out of my military belt, aiming it at the nearest soldier. 

"Watch it!" a voice cried. "Get 'er now!" 

Slowly, with arthritic gestures, I turned to face the utterance that was emitted from Donald Lydecker. Angling my gun while tasers forced me to my knees, I tried to keep a steady aim on him. Kill him and the sheep would have no one to follow. He had shot my father; he did not deserve to live. My hands were quivering at this point, barely able to follow Lydecker's movements, but I blindly pulled the trigger nonetheless, figuring that even if I couldn't hit Lydecker, any dead soldier would be a good soldier.

Out of nowhere, 416 appeared, and pushed Lydecker to the ground with a bellow of, "No!" There was a harsh splash of red blood that erupted forth as both of the men collapsed to the ground just as I lost consciousness and went spinning into horrid blackness. 


	35. Destroy You First

I didn't see him at first. Didn't see him standing with his back against the chain link fence, looking up at the sky with glistening-but blank-eyes. Didn't see the blood on his brown jacket that was sprinkled with snow and dripping of morning sunshine. After all I had been through, I didn't want to see him.

What I saw first instead was Dad-conscious-bent around, and examining his leg wound, while Krit muttered something to him that I was unable to hear. Occasionally, Dad would glance up, twisting his lips into an ugly remark, for he surely didn't want _help_ from anybody beside himself. Ultimately, Krit won out, and Dad succumbed to having his leg examined by the other man. 

A feet few away, Syl and Jace talked to Mom in low, legato murmurs. Fortunately, Mom hadn't been severely injured, although her clothing was ripped and torn, having been snared by spindly forest branches. The only reason that came to my mind as to why she had suddenly collapsed when we were first ambushed must have been that she had been hit with tasers because I knew that if she had been shot, she wouldn't be sitting and talking rather normally with her sisters.

Farther away from the adults and I, Case and Max stood next to one another, neither of them saying anything, except for an occasional nod and whisper. Case had his arm pulled tight across Max's waist, as if preventing her from ever leaving again, while she stroked her face with his fingers, savoring in the moment. Her eyes were closed, but Case's remained wide and focused on the distance, probably trying to block out the events that had only recently occurred. Somehow, neither of them looked down upon the fallen body in the snow. The fallen body that I had murdered.

In the horizon, across the barren field of snow, the sun rose, smearing its golden rays across the perfected crystals on the ground. The intense light pained my weary eyes, so I turned away, looking elsewhere. The building that had once appeared to be so monstrous when I had first arrived to save my family, was now nothing more than a pile of dying ash and charred framework. Any sign of human life had been obliterated after I was knocked unconscious. Occasionally, there would be an explosion as the fire managed to engulf one of the gunpowder storerooms or weaponry areas, but other than that, the flames continued to crackle, annihilating any trace that Manticore had ever existed. It seemed impossible that a building of such great magnitude could be gone so quickly. On the other hand, I was unsure as to how long I had been out.

Rising unsteadily to my shaking feet, I wobbled over to where Case and Max stood. Case looked up as I came near, and placed a hand on my shoulder, preventing me from seeing the person in the snow.

"I don't know if you want to see this," he said quietly.

"Let her see," Jace said, who sat with her head bent next to Mom and Syl. "It's about time anyhow…"

"Mom-" Max protested.

"Let her see," Jace repeated in the same monotone voice, and rested her heavy head upon Mom's bony shoulder. Reluctantly, Case sighed, not wanting to argue with his girlfriend's mother, and allowed me to pass by him to see who it was that I had killed.

There, lying haphazardly in the snow was the corpse, with blood seeping around the neck, proving that the blow I had delivered was indeed, extremely fatal. The eyes were glassy marbles that focused on nothing and no one, but seemed alive nonetheless. Kneeling down, despite the cold snow that wet my knee, I trailed my numb fingers along the worn brown leather jacket, unsure whether to cry or laugh at what I had done.

Donald Lydecker was dead. 

His silver hair blended with the snow, forming one glistening mass, which would never again be touched by warm human hands. The lips that had once delivered hideous corruption and lies were frozen into ugly gasp of pain. 

In my dreadful moment of sarcasm, I chuckled stupidly to myself, resulting in some odd glances from Case and Max, both of whom were gathered supportably around me. And to think, as 415 I had tried to remove his arthritis with blood; as Alanza, I removed the disease with a bullet to the jugular. It took me a moment before I realized that the browning crimson liquid upon the ground wasn't merely his-it was mine as well. I nearly vomited from disgust and abhorrence.

Rising to my feet, I approached Dad and smiled faintly. "Looks like I was ready for battle, after all."

Krit, who was attempting to nurse the stubborn Dad, peeked up at me quickly, before averting his eyes as if in shame. Dad, though, tried to return the smile, but found that his lips wouldn't form into that kind of gesture, and merely gave a weak nod. "Yeah, looks like you were…"

It was at that time that I noticed 416 standing off by himself, and when he saw that I was alive, he approached me with eager reluctance. For a moment, he stared at me, then looked away, before finally letting his eyes trail back slowly to my face. His ruddy face was smeared with dirt and blood, while his usually unadulterated clothing was torn and burned-a feat that I thought he would never lower himself in doing; his hair was singed, and barely clinging to his scalp, resulting in a rather horrifying spectacle. Yet, none of those meaningless material things mattered because it was his ghastly, frightened, eyes that appalled me the most. They were utterly clear, free of the muddled brainwashing, and bore straight into my soul with their absolute clarity.

"I-I didn't know what I was doing," he mumbled. "I thought that he was…our leader…our father," referring to "he" as Lydecker.

"That's what he wanted us to believe, but _nothing_ could be further from the truth. We were only his pawns, and that's all we ever were to him. Can you understand that?" I asked, trying to be sympathetic, but finding a great deal of difficulty in doing so.

He shook his savagely burned and scarred head. "It feels like I just woke up from a bad dream." His hands clenched and unclenched involuntarily into angry fists. "I just…I just wish this would end…it's like one whirlwind nightmare that I can't escape from."

"That's what it will feel like. You're no longer a pawn, no matter what you think," I responded, and before I could say anymore, another voice emerged from the hissing silence: 

"When working with Lydecker, you could be only a pawn."

I had already known he was there, but I didn't want to admit it to both myself and he, so the shock of his voice cutting through the morning soundlessness wasn't nearly as shocking as it should have been. Lingering for a brief moment on 416's incredulous face that-despite his utter shock-refused to drop to the ground, I slowly, with a great fear of both the monsters of past and present, turned around and away from 416, to face the person that I didn't want to see, yet knew that I had to anyhow.

The pieces of my broken world were fabricating once again.

As our eyes met, we said nothing, both of us unsure as to what to say, until I finally whispered, my voice seeming extraordinarily loud in the hushed morning air, "I'm sorry…James."

He pursed his lips together and nodded faintly, approaching the man that had been his father. Max moved away from James as he, while Case didn't step away, unafraid of someone that was embarrassingly afraid of himself.

"I know what you all must be thinking," James said more to Lydecker than one of us. "I shouldn't be alive. You," he mentioned, turning to me, "you saw me shot. Well, let's just put it this way: Tranquilizing bullets and a couple of real ones in a person's legs can make anybody look dead. Still, the fact remains that I inadvertently brought you all here. I know that. I do know that. Believe me, I don't deal well with guilt, and…well..." He laughed in the back of his throat as he stared down at his father. I was able to catch the baby pink scars on the inside of his wrists; so, he didn't deal well with guilt after all. "…I don't think I need to say anymore. 

"Yet, you are the only surviving group of people from this fire-I sent the X9s back inside where they will wait an eternity for Dad to come back, and they will die-or have already done so-in the process. Once this facility falls, it's only a matter of time before the other place leave as well. After all, this is the main site. This is where everything and everyone happens. It's like ripping the heart out of somebody-you might be able to save the person only if you replace the heart quickly enough. Problem is, funding's been down for a good couple years now, and the Committee has nowhere close to enough money to replace this plant. I know that for a fact, so I'm looking at saving all of you as a good thing and letting this Manticore palace burn as a good thing too, praying that my guilt will leave." 

"Will it, James?" I challenged, stepping forward as the rest of my family watched intently, all ready to snap James' neck if he were to try anything. "Will it truly leave?" He paused, and I took the opportunity to talk. "You put us here. Despite what you may think and feel, you did bring us here. Guilt and forgiveness walk hand in hand, so just because you can try to remove _your_ guilt, what about _our_ forgiveness? Do you really think we'll readily forgive you and all that you've done?"

"I know what I've done," he mumbled as his face unknowingly flushed.

"And so do we. We've spent a good month rotting in prisons or destroying lives in repayment for your crimes. Forgiveness, like guilt, is indeed a petty emotion, and one that does not come easily to those that have suffered as we have."

"Yes…"

"So, the question for you, James, is, are you going to beg for our forgiveness, or is the guilt going to destroy you first?"


	36. Against the Folds of Skin

James didn't answer me because not only did he not _want _to answer me, he didn't know how. After all, I could never picture James down on his hands and knees, humbling himself fully to us, but on the other hand, I knew that he didn't live well with guilt. A few more months-even weeks-in his fault-ridden state of mind would have definitely brought around positive suicide. 

By this point in James' strained conversation with me, the other adults had risen to their feet, observing James with tense hatred and displeasure in enormous quantities. Some of them, such as Mom and Syl, were naturally slightly more forgiving than Dad who, to be blunt, had hatred just rolling off of him in waves. His face was flushed, and he had clenched his jaw firmly into place.

Since catching the numerous mental threats that were flitting through his mind, I began to reluctantly fear for James' life. Whereas Dad would have killed 416 with hesitation just because of the good soldier morals that Dad constantly upheld, for 416 _technically_ wasn't the enemy, Dad would murder James if the younger man so much as breathed wrong. James wouldn't even have time to blink if Dad truly wanted him dead. And, even though James disgusted me to an endless amount at that moment, I couldn't bear to see him die-there were too many unanswered questions that needed to be resolved. After the questions had been explained? Yeah, maybe I would let Dad kill the guy.

Morning was quickly approaching, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, yet Lydecker's bleeding body remained frozen in the snow, while the words on James' tongue needed to be thawed before we could leave the area.

"He had a son," James began warily, shuffling his worn boot along in the frosty snow, as he stared down at his father's body. "I know he never, _ever_, wanted me in existence because I was just 'an accident', 'a slip-up'. Believe me, I've had that hanging over my head since I knew that he was my dad. Every time I tried to leave him, to go back home to Wisconsin where things were safe, he would toss that back into my face: 'You're nothing'. 'You're just a stupid accident'. 'How do you expect to survive in this world? Mistakes don't survive'." James sighed, running sore, callused fingers through his hair. 

For the first time since he had come back, I noticed how jumpy his dark pupils were and how he would cough occasionally with a hacking jolt. Then, I remembered when we had still been dating, how he had told me that, when life would go crazy on him that he would turn to cigarettes for assistance. Now, watching him babble stupidly to himself and us, I wondered if Lydecker had been slipping James something "harder" than a few innocent tobacco leaves. After all, any torture was good torture. I cast a sidelined glance at James and waited for him to continue talking sanely.

"I've spent weeks alone in some damned prison, being fed food that even the guard dogs wouldn't eat just because I 'needed to be alive to finish the Seattle plant'. Personally," James mused, "I wouldn't be surprised if he would have killed me after that place was finished." Turning to me-the closest person to him-he said, "I told you, the night we tried to escape, that he wouldn't let me die. I leave, that Seattle plant goes out the window."

"I remember that," I acknowledged, keeping my voice low as if I feared that the ghosts who I had killed would arise and strangle me now that Alanza, who had been presumed to be weak, was back in power.

A flicker of emotion that resembled a smile passed by James' lips, then faded away as quickly as it had come. "I knew you would…Still," he continued, "I've never truly thought of myself as James Lydecker. It wasn't until everything came crashing down that I finally realized that because of a few _damned_ genetics," he hissed, "nothing can remain the way it was. Me? I got stuck with a bunch of my father's genetics. And, because of that, I'm supposed to hate transgenics, treating them like slaves, or _I'm_ the one who has my head on backwards-not the merciless directors." He laughed hoarsely in the back of his throat, kicking at a pile of snow that had gathered around Lydecker's frozen toe.

"What's your point?" Krit finally snapped, supporting the obstinate Dad beneath his shoulder.

James stiffened instinctively, before coughing sharply again into his hands. All of us waited rather impatiently as he ceased the annoying bark and straightened himself. "The point, Krit, is that my father never wanted me." James dabbed away at his eyes, which had developed tears from the powerful convulse. Sniffing while wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he continued, "My father never wanted me for anything besides doing his labor that all was for 'his children'. Despite what all of you want to believe, he viewed you as his children. So, 416 here was right when he said that he viewed Lydecker as a father. It was what everyone wanted you to accept. Father Lydecker…Yeah, that's basically how it worked.

"But above all, I was never once acknowledged as his son. In a sick, twisted sense, I was jealous of you, and how much attention you received from him. I wanted that attention. I wanted a father. I did, I really did. Yet, the funny thing is that I was forever ignored, while you were all praised like gods. My father may have had a son, but he refused to admit so."

Lazily, James kicked at Lydecker's frozen boot before moving closer to me. I caught Dad's instant stiffening out of the corner of my eye, but ignored it, knowing that when it came to James, I could handle myself. James continued to approach me until he stood directly in front of me, no farther than two feet away. For the longest time we stared at each other, trapped in wicked parodies of dances that shouldn't have been shared, and of hospital moments that should have been deleted upon viewing. Finally, I cleared my rusty throat, emitting warm steam into the frosty air, and spoke.

"I could kill you right now before you would even realize that you were dying."

"I know," he affirmed without any hesitation.

"And?"

"I doubt that you will."

"Quite presumptuous for someone who could possibly be looking their death in the face-aren't you?"

"If you had wanted to kill me, you would've already done so."

"Perhaps…" I mused. Again, we lapsed into harsh silence before he pulled some items out of his coat pocket. 

"I figured you might want these back," he replied in a low undertone. His brown eyes, now pale with grief and loneliness darted up to mine, then back to the items in his hands that he offered me. "These, I know you'll definitely want back because it'll allow you to get out of here…extension to the soul…I know…and this…well…I guess it has some sort of meaning to you. You were wearing it when they brought you in."

Looking down at the materials that had been laid in my hand, I saw my motorcycle keys-along with the Californian apartment and Seattle apartment keys, as well-all still perfectly shiny, which almost caused me to start crying due to my brittle emotions. And, lying next to the brass keys was Dad's watch. The face had a hairline crack through it, but glowed with the modest indiglo that had been specially picked out for a night owl like Dad. Yet, what puzzled me the most was the blank face, filled completely with zeros. It took me a moment before I realized that the little timepiece was indicating that we had a new start at life. Not only me, but the rest of family. All I had to do was press the button and life would begin again.

I was about to thank James when he cleared his congested throat again, muttering something that I couldn't hear as he dropped a puddle of gold in my hand. The cold metal comforted my blistered skin, and I cupped alloy in my palm as he stumbled over his words. "I don't know if you'll want this back or not…" he muttered, obviously uncomfortable, "and I know that we'll never be 'like that' again, but…well…it's yours to do with what you want to," he said more to himself than me. James watched me observing the object, before turning away and crouching down next to Lydecker's body a few feet away. I looked up, meeting the blank eyes of my family who observed the sniffling man with confusion now, as if wondering why Donald Lydecker's son would be lamenting his father's hideous death.

Case met my eyes from a distance and gave a head nod, questioning what James had given me. He wasn't watching James cry alone-he was watching me. After a moment of hesitation, I opened my hand like a flower petal, and I saw that, lying tenderly against the folds of skin, was the ruby heart necklace.


	37. Doing the Wrong Thing

"No," Mom repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, shaking her head firmly. "No, I will not allow it."

It was three days after our departure from Manticore, and Mom, Dad, and I were all gathered at Logan's-who was present as well-in the late afternoon. Outside, the sky was dusted with a hint of gray night approaching, and raindrops pooled in the exterior window crevices, which signaled the definite approach of a rainstorm. A few fat birds, somehow knowing that spring had arrived a few weeks early-in February, this year-were gathered on the wire lines outside of Logan's penthouse, twittering to themselves pleasantly. Seeing the birds, my feline DNA provoked me into wondering how much longer Logan's garlic chicken was going to be in cooking.

To recap the past events, Lydecker's body had been buried in the ashes of the Manticore building. Dad insisted that we might as well leave the corpse there to rot, but I-still containing a trace of 415-argued that we at least show _some_ pity for the dead. So reluctantly, we assisted James in lugging his father's body over to the smoldering part of the facility that wasn't leaping dangerously with flames, and gently throwing the mass into the ashes, which quickly engulfed the added weight. Of course, Dad hissed some harsh words behind James' back, which no one but I caught, and even then, I made no sign that I had even heard them. Dad, was, of course, rather difficult to deal with at times.

After a quiet moment in which James alone wiped away a few tears concerning his father's death, we-excluding James-gathered together and discussed how to get back home. There was, after all, only one motorcycle, and all of the other transportation machinery had been destroyed in the fire. Naturally, I volunteered myself to drive into town with James-since he would probably be killed by the others when I left him-where we planned to pick up an extra car from the rental place at the airport.

He said nothing to me on the entire trip there and grabbed onto the bottom of his seat instead of looping his arms around my waist. I fought between the notion of bucking him off the motorcycle, killing him, and allowing him to live with the knowledge of what he had done. Unfortunately, my more angelic side won out, and he was allowed to stay on.

Yet, it wasn't until he had hopped into the large van that would be able to carry everyone back to the airport that James spoke.

"You know, I was thinking about the first time we came here."

"And?" I asked, arching an eyebrow as I straddled my purring motorcycle beside the car.

"It seems odd that we're suddenly leaving."

Instinctively, I stiffened, not liking what I had just heard. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just that…there's this big gap-life at Manticore-that doesn't really exist, and it was more like a bad dream than reality. I mean," he sighed, "it's feels like we were just looking down at the building last night, debating about how to break in."

I stared evenly at him, trying not to glare too fiercely and shot back in a vehement whisper, "If you were to say something like that to the others, they'd kill you, James, no questions asked. A bad dream does _not_ give you scars and unimaginable pain just because 'it's a bad dream'…" I snorted angrily. "Let's just get back and leave here." And, before he could say anymore, I gunned the engine and sped away, spewing up ice crystals beneath my wheel, leaving him to follow me or be killed.

To make a long story short, we clambered into the van, drove to the airport, got tickets after putting a call into Logan-who nearly began to go into hysterics on the phone when Mom called him-and we flew back on the earliest flight. A few extended hours later, Seattle was once again our locale.

When we landed, Mom immediately flew into Logan's arms, where she spent the past three nights, causing some more fuming muttering from Dad that was definitely too profane for his usual mutterings, so I shot him a couple glances, forcing him to realize that _I_ was listening in. He shut up…not as quickly as I would have like, but he shut up nonetheless. 

James retreated away into his apartment after a curt goodbye to me. Before leaving, he mentioned something about calling me to 'discuss things'. His call either was accepted by Dad who hung the phone up in his face or James never called. Personally, after two days, I went with the latter choice. Yet, in the back of my mind, I was slightly worried that he had committed suicide after arriving, but the thought of heading over to his apartment brought back flashbacks that I wasn't ready to face, so I avoided the subject altogether.

Everyone else went back to their individual homes, which had all remained intact since our Manticore capture. Jace was reunited with Victor, and Case with Charlie. Parents with kids. Tears upon tears. It was good to see families together once again.

Dad, 416, and I headed back to the apartment where Original Cindy met me with open arms, Dad with frank annoyance, and 416 with instant suspicion. I offered 416 the guest bedroom, which he accepted nervously, but headed on in anyhow. For the past three days, he holed himself up inside of the room, scribbling madly into a notebook that had already been in the sleeping area. 

Out of frank curiosity, I had picked one of the fallen papers up so that I could see what he was writing about and found myself greeted with a mad mess of haphazard words and jumbled phrases:_"all i want is freedom freedom from this nightmare she says it will end i don't think it will when will it end now never monsters in the basement are in this bedroom what if they come for me…."_ I didn't continue reading anymore of his drabbles, figuring that he needed to deal with his newfound freedom in his own sense. Besides, he could remain with us as long as he needed to, so my chance to fully "talk things over" would come.

Dad accepted the couch, since Original Cindy definitely didn't want to share her room with him, so I instead took the room with Cindy. Night after night, we stayed up until the morning hours, whispering about what Manticore had done to both Mom and me. Apparently, Cindy had heard it all before from her lack of screaming shock, yet I found it wonderful to have someone besides Dad to talk to anyhow.

So, fast-forward three days and you would find Mom, Dad, and I in Logan's penthouse with Mom sitting on Logan's lap, and Dad looking on with an extremely sour expression.

"I won't let her," Mom said, glaring directly at Dad. "No. That's final."

"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Dad mumbled.

"What? What's wrong with here?"

"_He_," Dad shot back with a nod at Logan, "is what's wrong with here."

"Max, I can leave…" Logan began.

"No, I want you here."

"Then, I'm not discussing this with you," Dad replied, rising to his feet.

Heavily, Mom sighed, feeling defeated and rose from Logan's lap, whispering, "Maybe you'd better go," to him. Logan nodded in agreement, kissed Mom on the cheek and departed down the hallway with a light bounce to his step. Seeing his archenemy gone, Dad sank easily back down on the couch, trying not to grin too happily.

"All right, Zack?" she shot back. "You satisfied?"

"Let's just get down to business."

"I already said it: No. This is not going to happen."

"I think so. I mean if you had, none of this would have occurred. _None_ of it," he stressed.

"Well-"

"What about me?" I asked, speaking for the first time in the ten minutes that we had been inside of Logan's living-room. "Don't I get any say in this? After all, we are talking about me, here."

Dad glanced to Mom with an "I told you so" look, before they both turned back to me. "Well, Alanza, what do you have to say?" Mom asked, clasping her hands together as she leaned forward in her chair.

I swallowed, knowing that she would be upset with my answer, but I hoped that Dad would support me nonetheless. "I want the abortion," I replied.

"Alanza-" she immediately replied.

"Let her finish," Dad told Mom, who recoiled instantly with a dangerous glare, but said nothing more.

"I'm only nineteen…I can't have a child now," I stated pleadingly.

"I was about nineteen when I had you. You have to understand what you're doing here, Alanza. You're destroying a life. You don't have the right to play God with something that can't even speak up for itself," Mom told me.

"Well, they didn't have a right to play God with _me_, impregnating me and all," I argued.

"You should at least act like a responsible adult and take responsibility of the child-" Mom started.

"And what then? What? Diapers, crying in the middle of the night, breast feedings at every half an hour, not to mention the fact that the child will be the ultimate super soldier, capable of wiping out the entire city of Seattle in one swipe."

Dad nodded in agreement. "She does have a point, Max."

"And where you have been, Alanza, if I had chosen abortion nineteen years ago?" Mom asked, trying to force me into succumbing to give birth to a child that I didn't want.

"I would have dead," I admitted, and before she could get a word in edgewise, I held up a finger, "and I wouldn't have met James. He wouldn't have introduced us to Lydecker, who wouldn't have kidnapped us, tortured us, brainwashed us, and nearly killed us. All right? A lot could have been saved by my abortion."

"You're murdering a life," Mom whispered, brushing a dark strand of wispy hair out of her eyes. She had gained about five pounds since escaping from Manticore, but her cheeks were still hallow and eyes still ghastly.

"No," I challenged, "I'm saving a life."

"Whose?"

"Mine. Yours. Dad's. I saving the entire surviving group of Xs in this city from ever being kidnapped again."

"Max," Dad said, lying his hand over hers. Offended, she shifted away and went to stand by the window. He flinched, but continued on anyhow, looking at me during the entire time he was talking. "We have to allow her to make this decision by herself. She is a legal adult, which is precisely why you brought her back to Seattle to begin with. You have to respect her decision."

"And you?" she questioned.

"I support her. Another child-especially one with this high of potency-would destroy all of us."

"Perhaps…" she mused. "But I still think you're doing the wrong thing here."

Slowly, I rose to my feet and walked over to her, resting my hand on hers as we looked down at the dingy city of Seattle together. "Sometimes, Mom," I as she met my tired eyes, "doing the wrong thing, gets you the right result in the end."


	38. His Comforting Leather

Two days later, 416 emerged from the bedroom, wiping at his sleep-encrusted eyes. Even though I hadn't made a single sound, he noticed me nonetheless, reclining on the couch as I stared off into the distance, thinking about the abortion that would occur within a few hours. Gently, he sat down at the other end of the couch with barely a tremor and watched me intently, his brown eyes never wavering and absorbing everything.

"Are you ok?" he asked, giving me a pat on the knee.

I trailed my finger along the lower edge of my lip, which had been doused in a hearty glass of apple juice earlier that morning. "Yeah…" I mumbled.

"No, you're not. Something's wrong."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should tell him because I was unsure as to how he would take the news. Finally, exasperated and figuring that he, as the father, had a right to know, I let my eyes flicker over to his, and I said, "I'm going to abort the child."

He froze unintentionally and rapidly sucked in his breath. "Our child?"

"Yes."

It was a long pause before he finally asked, "Why?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

"I don't want this baby living the life I lived." Removing my eyes from his, I turned back to the window, and thought about all that had happened since I had arrived in Seattle. I thought about the pain I had cried and the blood that I had bore. And, even then, that was just the tip of the iceberg, considering the emotional damage and people that had died in repayment for my life's mistakes. "I don't want it living in fear that somebody's going to take it away to a place that kills children for fun. When-and if-I want to have children, I want to have them with someone that'll support me, and I want to be able to fully support the child."

"I'll support you," he responded.

I glanced up at him and smiled faintly, but sadly. "I know you will, but…"

"But what?"

I turned away from him, and as I spoke, my voice cracked, revealing the onset of tears, "I just can't," I whispered.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting on a hard bed, lazily swinging my feet and fingering the tear in the paper-towel material that I wore, while a dowdy nurse endlessly interrogated me.

"Are you taking any prescriptions that we should be aware of?"

"No."

"Have you had any recent surgery?"

I thought of the dissections that Manticore had done to me, taking scrapings of my organs and impregnating me, before answering with a curt "No".

"And how many months along are you…Ms…" she leaned in closer to her clipboard and adjusted her glasses, attempting to read the receptionist's scrawled writing.

"Cale," I finished, lying through my teeth. "Teri Cale." 

It was an obvious decision to have me go into the hospital under a different name besides my real one. And, since Logan, who circumstantially claimed to be my uncle, was financing the abortion, it only made sense that I should got by his last name.

"How many months then, Ms. Cale?"

I paused, mentally counting. "About two…two and a half…maybe three." Time at Manticore seemed to be in a different realm than in the real world. It was slower, disoriented, while everything in the real world made so much more sense.

The nurse nodded, scribbled down some illegible numbers and told me to lie back because the doctor would be with me in a moment as she left me alone. I didn't want to lie down, didn't want to succumb to another method of torture, so I remained in my sitting position, fidgeting terribly. The table-like apparatus beneath my butt was cold and unforgiving, while the bright lights from above were far too demanding. It reminded me of Manticore, and I nearly screamed.

The moment in which the doctor was supposed to arrive, passed far faster than I would have hoped, and far too soon in strolled the doctor, followed by an ensemble of nurses, who all regarded me as just the average street hooker. I wanted to cry out to them that it wasn't my fault I was pregnant. It wasn't like I had purposely slept around just to have a child. Of course, I kept my mouth shut as they numbed my pelvic area, mumbling amongst themselves about the company meeting next week and whose turn it was to buy donuts for Friday's breakfast.

Finally, the doctor-a short man with a facial hair shadow around his large jowls-glanced at me and asked, "Would you like to see the tools that I'm about to use?"

I firmly shook my head, biting down on my lower lip, praying he wouldn't sense my quivering. Just get it over with, I mentally pleaded. 

"All right, then will be some discomfort and pressure, but no pain…" His words were drowned out by the sound of a harsh whirring. My entire body involuntarily clenched, and I heard him mumble something to the ladies beside him. The vacuum hummed louder than I wanted, and I began whispering softly to myself.

"Destroy a life, save a life. Destroy a life, save a life. Destroy a life…"

Yet, my words meant nothing as I drifted in and out of reality, unable to see what they were doing to my body beyond my nightgown, which was stretched taunt across my spread legs. I knew that I was destroying Manticore, destroying what would have been, indeed the nuclear warhead. Lydecker had wanted me to be his nuclear warhead, his Napoleon, his smug hero smashing the enemies left and right. Instead, his victor had turned out to be me, a Californian teenager with no concept of fighting or war, besides what I had seen in the local theater. Lydecker's true champion, though, was being sucked away by a bunch of blind doctors who didn't even realize that they were destroying billions of dollars in technology with one single vacuum and scalpel. 

It was hours later before the agony was over, and a nurse-a younger, pretty gal who had obviously never gotten pregnant-helped me to my feet with a bright smile. She regarded me lowly, and I watched dumbly as she washed her hands after handling my clothes. I hadn't realized earlier that clothes could be so utterly unsanitary.

"We'll give you a prescription for the pain, if you'd like…" Her words, as I numbly dressed, meant nothing to me. "…there may be some bleeding, but it'll be nothing to worry about…get plenty of rest…no strenuous exercise…" As I finished clothing, she led me to the waiting room entrance door, where I would wait to receive my prescription slips, she chirped, "Feel better soon."

I smiled forcefully, wanting to tell her that I wouldn't feel better anytime soon.

Instead, I wobbled out to the waiting room, clutching my convulsing abdomen that felt as if it was going to suddenly jump out of my throat and land on the floor in front of me. I began to wonder if the pain at Manticore could match this. Gently, I eased myself down onto one of the wooden benches that lined the walls of the reception area. My entire body burned from the waist down, and I began to question if what I had done was truly the right thing. You couldn't have let the child live, I reminded myself, it would have been tortured all of its life. Yet, like most mothers who had gone through an abortion, my guilt and depression was hanging heavily upon me.

I must have dozed off or something because the next thing I knew, Dad was sitting down beside me, easing his arm gently around my shoulders. He smelled like strawberry jam and wore his leather jacket proudly.

"'Lanzie," he whispered, and pulled me close to his chest. With one arm wrapped around my shoulders and another firmly clasping my fingers, I felt physically secure, but wished that the world around would stop spinning. Inside his warm chest, his heart beat strongly, and I tried to pace my breathing to match the calmness of his pulse. "It's gonna be all right," he reassured me, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

And, upon hearing his heartening words that swooned around my disoriented brain, I pulled him closer, nuzzling myself against his comforting leather, while breathing in the sweet scent, and I began to cry.


	39. Rushing Water Up At Camp

About a week and a half later, Mom blasted into the apartment one early Friday morning, flipping on light switches and rousing us from our beds. She had been shot straight up with caffeine and was flying around like a bat out of hell, yanking off covers and removing pillows as if the world was going to end. 

Since I had been trapped in a nightmare of Manticore-after the abortion, flashbacks had become more frequent and powerful-I had thought Mom was one of the directors and had nearly killed her, before Cindy managed to grab me by the wrist, assuring me that everything was "aiight". A cold sweat had spread over my body, forcing me to grab a blanket to wrap around myself as I stumbled out of bed. Cindy gave me a worried look and led me out to the kitchen where Mom was bending over the sleeping Dad.

Surprisingly, Dad had stayed the entire time since we had come back from Manticore, although I wasn't truly sure as to why. In the years following my fifteenth birthday, he had rarely stuck around long enough to throw a blanket down on the couch and sleep. Yet, for some absolutely unexplainable reason, he had made himself quite comfortable at the apartment, where he left only to go out and buy food or other supplies that we might have needed. 

To my relief, he never tried to push the subject of the abortion. That evening of the termination, he had merely led me out to Logan's Aztek, where Logan and Mom sat in the front seats, waiting patiently. Dad clambered in back with me and allowed me to sob into his leather jacket. Sympathy was never a strong point of Dad's, but he managed to pull enough together to make me feel loved.

Yet, as Mom rushed around the apartment that morning, she made the mistake of trying to wake up Dad and nearly got swatted in the face as he lazily rolled over with a groan, acting only on instincts. Cindy and I were already half awake, and watched the scene with tired humor, yawning and rubbing at sleep encrusted eyes. Once again, Mom tried to arouse Dad with a firm, "Get your ass out of bed, Zack". Finally, annoyed and irked, he elbowed the thick flannel blanket that he had been using aside, and sat up on the couch, glaring at her through muddled eyes.

"What is it _now_, Max?" he grumbled.

"Is everybody up?" she questioned, moving over to the kitchen counter.

"He's not," I replied, motioning my head in the direction of the guest bedroom, where 416 still slept. Somehow, though, I doubted that he was truly asleep; Manticore training for nearly two decades will undoubtedly leave thinking procedures embedded into a person's brain.

Mom waved her hand dully. "You can tell him later, Alanza." Pulling up a stool, she slung one leg over the opposite side, positioning herself comfortably on the peeling wooden stool, and flattened a piece of paper down on the countertop. "Here's the deal, guys-"

"Besides 'da fact 'dat you got to git us up at…what's 'de time?" Cindy mused, pulling her magenta bathrobe around her tighter.

Dad looked at his watch, which I had given back to him shortly after arriving in Seattle. He had refused it at first, claiming that James had probably tampered with, installing a bomb or something of that nature. Eventually, after much persisting on my part, Dad accepted it. "It's about five in the morning," he muttered with a lazy stretch.

Mom shot a quick glance over at the shirtless Dad before grinning down at the paper once again. "So it's a little early," she shrugged, "but I wanted to tell you guys so you'd have time to prepare."

"For what?" I asked, wiping a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"All right, Logan's hosting a dinner tomorrow-Saturday-night. You're all invited."

"Me too?" Dad wondered as he slid down onto one of the extra stools.

"You too, Zack." 

"Really…" he mumbled with a wry grin. I could see the devious little wheels in his head start to turn as he contemplated how to defeat Logan at winning Mom's hand. Sighing heavily, I hiked up my pajama pants, fully realizing that my parents were never going to change.

"But, here's the place it's at," Mom continued, shoving the piece of paper at Dad, who barely looked at it before sliding it along the countertop to me. The advertisement labeled the restaurant as "The best menu and music in Seattle". I didn't bother to continue reading, already knowing that Logan had picked out some swanky place where the only kind of music would be classical jazz band. Regardless, I managed a smile so early that morning.

"I'll come."

"Me too," Cindy replied as she examined one of her flashy nails that looked like it was possibly chipped from her dancing with a new girlfriend.

"I guess I'll come too," Dad responded, trying not to be too eager and making it look like he didn't care when we all knew that he actually did.

"And what about 416?" Mom asked me.

"Sure, I'll bring him along. Let him get a taste of 'real world food'."

"Good," Mom grinned and hopped off the stool, heading for the door. "Dress nice. If you need any help, just give me a call." And with that, she was gone as quickly as she had come.

For a moment, the three of us stood around, blanking staring at the paper that Mom had left, wondering if she had just been a dream. 

"Damn…she's just too happy," Cindy mumbled before retreating back into the bedroom, where I heard the creaking of bed springs as she rolled down to attempt some more sleep.

"Of course," Dad groaned, running his fingers through his hair as he rested his elbows on the countertop. Curiously, he paused and glanced over at me. "You think it's because of Logan?"

"Dad…" I sighed.

"I was just asking. I mean, she's never acted this happy before…even before you were born…he's probably put something into that wine that they're always drinking."

"Or maybe," I added, reaching for Mom's abandoned stool, "they doped her up at Manticore so that whenever she'd see Logan, she'd go all gag-gag." I grinned. "How does that theory sound?"

He laughed in the back of his throat, fingering the worn paper that Mom had flung at us. "They're engaged-aren't they?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's what I figured."

"You really got to stop beating yourself up over something that you have no control over," I told him. "You've been doing this, for what? Twenty…twenty-three years? It's just not worth it."

Suddenly, Dad's relaxed state morphed into one of utmost irritation. "Look, it's not like you know anything about it." Padding heavily over to the couch, he snatched his fallen shirt and snapped it out to remove any lingering wrinkles. "Just don't try to get too involved in my life," he warned.

"Hey," I objected, holding up my hands in protest, "I was just saying…"

"I _know_ what you were just saying, and I don't want to hear it right now. So, do you want the shower, 'Lanzie?" he asked.

"No, go ahead and take it. I'm going to try to catch some more sleep."

"Wish I could," he snapped at Mom, who was no longer there, "but it looks like my wake-up call came a little bit _early_ this morning." And with that, Dad disappeared into the bathroom, flicking the door angrily shut behind him. Not long after I had headed back to my own bedroom where Cindy was already snoring, I heard the running of water and drifted off to sleep, dodging memories of the rushing water up at camp with Case, Max, and James.


	40. As Long as We're Alive

The following evening-after much tedious shopping-we found ourselves caught in a frenzied mess of preparing to go. Cindy had picked out a dazzling orange dress that reminded me of the flapper styles in the 1920s-I had read about the '20s in history class. She managed to make her curls long and soft, becoming ringlets of silk, so that they weren't at all frizzy. After a couple minutes of applying makeup, she deemed herself ready to go. As she headed down to the stairs to join Mom and Logan for a ride to the restaurant, letting her perfume waft through the hallways, I swore I heard her mumbling about "fine lady singers".

Dad, on the other hand, nearly had to be forced into wearing something besides his typical blue jeans and leather jacket attire. He grumbled. He complained. He bitched. All in all, it was indeed a rather humorous scene. Finally, in my exasperation, which had resulted from the fact that I was being forced to monitor my dad, I violently threw an outfit down on the couch.

"Look," I told him with one hand resting warningly on my hip, "_do_ you or do you _not_ want to make Logan look bad?"

Dad didn't answer as he glowered out the window. 

"It's only for one stupid dinner," I continued. "Dress up, make yourself look presentable, and maybe, _just maybe_, Mom'll stop thinking that you're some kind of animal barbarian." I paused, wondering if my words had sank in. When he didn't answer, I responded to his back, "Well, then, as for me, I'm going off to get dressed." 

With one final glance at him, I headed off to the bathroom to do my makeup and fix my hair before dressing. About ten minutes later, I heard the gunning of Mom's motorcycle-which she had left at the apartment since moving in with Logan-and it took only a quick peek out on the couch to see that Dad had taken the clothes to the restaurant.

Grinning to myself, I turned back to the mirror and swiped a pale shade of gray over my eyelid, wondering just how long it had been since I had truly dressed up. After all, at Manticore, if a solider had worn anything besides the typical uniform, it was out to the barracks for hardcore regiment training. Suddenly, violent flashbacks of laughing at Jace and kicking Alec punctured my sanity, and I swooned, nearly falling right into the toilet, but fortunately, I managed to grab the sides of the sink in time. The drain twisted and turned, just like my stomach, and it felt as though I would vomit right then and there. God, would the memories never cease?

Just then, there was a soft knock on the opposite side of the door, and I weakly lifted my drugged head in the direction, mumbling a soft, "Come in". Slowly, the door hesitantly plodded open to reveal a dressed 416 who was trying to adjust his hair to the modern styles of the time. He appeared like a little lost child, and I forced a smile as I straightened myself, shaking off the disillusioned sickness. 

"Here, let me help you," I offered and pulled him gently into the bathroom so that we stood side by side in the harsh lighting. He was wearing a pair of loose black slacks along with a deep blue sweater that accented his pale blond hair, which lay rumpled along the tips of his ears.

"I wasn't sure…" he mumbled, raising his hand awkwardly to his head. 

"That's ok," I laughed as I wet a comb down with water. "See? All you do is take this through your hair like this…and we should have some gel in here somewhere…" I said to myself as I opened the medicine cabinet to reveal Cindy's assortment of hair and beauty products. "Let's see here…blemish cream…no…uh…fragranced hairspray…nope…ah! Here we go!" Buried in the back of the miscellaneous aerosol containers was an old bottle of gel that looked like it was from the pre-pulse era. "Now, you just comb this through your wet hair." By the time I was done, he had a neatly slicked back design, since his hair was too long to form spikes like Logan's. I would have to see what I could do about that, though.

"Thanks, Alanza," he said as we stepped out of the bathroom together. I was still wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a deadbeat concert T-shirt from Max, yet my face and what hair I had were completely finished. 

"No problem, but I-"

I stopped short as a curt knocking began on the apartment door. Instinctively, 416 froze, his brown eyes darting in the direction of the noise. The Manticore training was still buried beneath his skin, always relentless and starving for a host victim.

"Just hold on," I told him in a low voice as I strode over to the door. Slowly, I pulled the door open to reveal a rather timid looking James. He was about to speak, when he noticed 416 off in the corner. Sighing to myself, I glanced over my shoulder at 416. "Could you wait in the bedroom for a couple minutes? We won't be long."

Although he was overly protective of me when it came to James, he listened nonetheless, mostly because he was still impaired by the shock of leaving Manticore. For the time being, 416 would continue to listen to me despite what others would have said about him. Later, as time passed, I knew that I would-and could-no longer be in control.

Finally, James and I stood alone in the meager living room, staring at each other, and waiting for the other to speak. I crossed my arms over my chest, while he shoved his hands into his pants pockets, lingered beside the frayed couch that I had spent months on. I refused to talk first; he had come to me, let him do the talking.

Nervously, he cleared his throat. "So…how are you doing?"

"Fine. And you?" My words were short, punctuated evenly and curtly. I didn't have the time or patience, to dodge bullshit with him. Get to the point.

"Pretty good...Sorry I never got back to calling you." 

"No big deal."

"Who's the guy?" 

"Why?"

"Just wondering," he muttered.

"Does it matter who he is, James?"

There was a long pause before he finally answered, "No, I suppose it doesn't."

"That's what I thought."

Another long break followed, in which I examined one of my nails, trying to determine if I should put a clear layer of nailpolish on before I headed off to dinner. They were in rather rough condition, and I didn't like how bland they seemed.

"I just came," he began, "to say good bye."

"'Bye James."

"No…Alanza…Please…listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going back to Wisconsin. I don't have the finances to keep my apartment, so I'm going to head back home, where getting a job is almost a definite."

"Congratulations, James."

He was exasperated with me, but was smart enough not to show it, for otherwise, both 416 and I would have been on him in a minute. Biting down on his jaw, he sighed, "I know that this is a long cry off…but I was wondering…if you'd like to come back with me…just so that we can try to work things over…see if there's not something left."

I blinked in astonishment, then told him, before disappearing into my bedroom, "Wait…let me get something."

Quickly, I came back out and dropped the ruby heart necklace back into his hand. A tense moment paused in which I was bombarded with debilitating flashbacks as he queerly stared at the piece of jewelry before glancing back up to me. 

"Alanza-" he began, but I immediately shushed him.

"You told me a long time ago: 'Don't you ever think I've ever stopped loving you, Alanza. Don't ever think that.' But, did you really mean it?"

"Of course I did…I just…I don't want to leave you."

"James…" My voice came out almost as a mournful plea, which embarrassed me extraordinarily. If he didn't leave soon, I would start crying. Damned memories.

"Alanza, I know what I did was wrong. I know that. But, don't you think that we can put all of that behind us and get a new life? Please?"

I backed away from him, pulling my arms tighter around myself as if I could someone squeeze the pain away. "I don't think that all of the mess can be swept underneath the rug like nothing happened. There's just too much…"

He reached for my hand, wanting to be close, but fiercely, I swatted him away and sent him reeling. "James," I hissed through clenched teeth to fight back the tears due to painful memories as I clenched my hands at my sides, "I want you out…now."

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, dazed, but trying not to show it. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Please, just leave," I whispered, turning my back to him, where I walked over to the countertop and laid my hands on the smooth tiling to stop the world from spinning. Once again, a wave of nausea began to spread over me.

James came up from behind me and set a paper down by my fingertips. Hesitantly, he stroked the back of my fingers before whispering, "Goodbye, Alanza." I heard the floor creak as he trudged over to the door, watching me from behind, and ultimately leaving the apartment forever.

A few minutes later, 416 came out the bedroom and walked over to me, leaning over my shoulder. "Are you ok?" he asked tenderly.

"Memories are a pain in the ass," I mumbled more to myself than him.

He laughed in the back of his throat. "Tell me about it…"

"I just wish it would end."

"He left, I think that's pretty good, if you were to ask me."

"But, just because he left, who's to say that there won't be more followers that will come after him? How much longer are we in danger of being recaptured."

"As long as we're alive, Alanza, we're in danger."


	41. Used to be 416

After dressing in a deep purple dress that fell just past my ankles, I was fully physically prepared to go. But, as I exited the bedroom, I found 416 reading the piece of paper that James had attempted to give me before leaving.

"What's that?" I asked.

416 looked up and handed it to me. "You'll probably want to see this," he muttered, pulling out a stool for me next to him.

The document was obviously a luxury item with rich typecasting and high grain paper. Scanning it over, I felt my throat clench as I realized what James had given me. 

It was my Manticore certificate. 

I read the words out loud to myself, feeling the air grow denser, and my blood temperate rise higher. "'Barcode: 885994520415. Designation Number: X10-415 a.k.a. "Alanza". Date of Creation: April 15, 2020. Date of Birth: Unknown due to rogue mother's escape. Father: X5-599 a.k.a. "Zack". Mother: X5-452 a.k.a. "Max". Additional notes: Subject was at first resistant to any forms of Manticore training. After using emotional ploys such as the fraudulent death of X10-657 and James Lydecker, persuasion from X5-494, along with the subject's own cataclysmic turn-around when encountering father in facility morgue, subject succumbed easily to Manticore techniques.'" 

Then, down at the bottom of the paper, in tiny font, I read, "'Personal note from Colonel Lydecker to future directors who plan on undertaking the 416/415 project: Both are highly volatile subjects, although neither is aware of it. They believe that everything they are doing is for the good of Manticore and will benefit their future-if they were to find out otherwise, we would lose them both. 415-despite having shown excellent signs of progression-is highly unstable and prone to violent memory dazes. If she were to come in contact with any of the Xs that were brought in with her in December of 2038, she would remember everything. [See attached file on 416.] I urge future directors to be highly guarded around 415 and never, _ever_, mention the name Alanza around her, for I fear that the results will shatter us all. Signed: Donald M. Lydecker-January, 2039.'"

Having finished reading, I looked up at 416, who stood a reasonable distance away. "Well?"

"There's something written on the back," he mused, rapidly processing all of the information I had read to the both of us, and I frantically turned the wrinkled paper over. In neat writing in which the small letters were all capitals, I read, "'Dear Alanza, if you're reading this, then I have left you for Wisconsin.' Geez, he sounds so romantic," I muttered before continuing on. "'I've said this a hundred times and will most likely continue to say it until I am quiet in my grave: I know what I have done, and I ask to be forgiven. Yes, I'm to the point of groveling now.'…It's about time…

"'I think of the time we had together. Those brief months in which everything was as close to perfect as it ever could have been. You thought that I didn't know who you were until your family was kidnapped and everything was totally revealed. Believe me, I had always suspected since the first time I met you. There was-and still is-something about you that makes the heads in a room look up when you walk in; I was no different. Sure, I lusted after you to begin with, and then I came to love you. It wasn't until your seizures, though, that I fully knew who you were. I suppose it wasn't only the violent seizing that gave your identity away, but your parents secured the deal. After all, my father had been making me study the Xs since I had come to Seattle. Believe me, seeing your parents gave me the shock of seeing a celebrity for the first time.

"'Once I realized who you were, I knew that our time together was limited. Dad was getting closer and closer, pressing in further upon me for any and all information I could scrap together because he said that he "could smell X5s in Seattle". He knew that you were in New York City because I told him. Physical torture is a nasty thing, mind you, and I couldn't take the pain anymore, so I told. I was the one who led the attack on you that night. I was the one who screamed at the X7s, telling them where you were. 

"'That gang accident the night of your mom's motorcycle wreck? Totally planned. I was conscious during it all, watching everything. My life was at stake for any information about you. If I didn't talk, I would be shot.

"'So, basically, I caused any pain that Manticore has brought you and your family. Simple enough.

"'My greatest regret now is that I didn't stay quiet and didn't allow myself to be shot. Death would be easier than this guilt.

"I've erased all of your records from the Manticore system files. The only way you can be taken back is if a director sees you and claims that you are 415. But, most of the directors now fear for their lives, believing that the Gillette destruction was the result of terrorists-since my dad was known to have far too many enemies to handle-, and they will say little. People are fleeing Manticore, no longer wanting to work for a secret government agency; my father was right-Manticore is dying.

"'You hate me now, I know that. And, so it is time for me to leave to Wisconsin. Take care of yourself, Alanza…James.'"

My voice had dropped in volume, and gently, I laid the paper back on the counter, staring dumbly at it. "He did it all," I whispered.

"What?" 416 asked, not understanding what I meant.

"Everything that had to do with Manticore was caused by him. If I hadn't met him-"

"Don't go beating yourself up over it, you couldn't have known."

"But, 41-wait a minute, you need a name."

"What?" he repeated, surely confused because I had just been talking about my horrors with James less than a second ago.

"A name. I'm not going to call you '416' forever."

"Understandable…"

"I'm going to name you after this friend of mine," I began, turning to directly face him. "Back in California, my friends and I used to race down the streets. One night, a friend of mine that I'd had since kindergarten decided that he wasn't going to wear his helmet for whatever the reason. Probably thought he was 'too cool' to have such safety features. The rest of us thought that was all fine and dandy, so we didn't wear ours. As you may have figured out by this time, things didn't go all 'fine and dandy'. 

"On our usual riding route, construction had taken place. Cool, we thought, more obstacles to jump over. So we jumped right over the signs and guardrails. 

"When that specific friend of mine jumped over a guardrail, his front tire landed in cooling asphalt that still had the texture of gravel. The tire couldn't get enough grip to complete the jump. His back tire spun out from underneath him, causing the entire bike to go sideways. It skidded up against a brick building before coming to a rest. By this time, his skull was cracked and brain damage was inevitable. An accident like that _never_ should have happened…totally freak accident.

"The doctors later said that if he had been wearing his helmet, he might have survived. His parents were forced to pull the plug on his life support and let him die, knowing that his vegetable condition would never change. 

"I know it's not the happiest story, but you remind me of that friend…not that I'm saying you're going to smash your head open. You have that energy inside of you that makes you _not _want to wear your helmet in life because you might miss having that breeze in your face, despite the risks it takes."

"So, what is my name going to be?" he asked, watching me intently.

Instantly, James was forgotten about, and I grinned at the man that used to be 416.


	42. Allow Me to be the First

I rode my motorcycle down the darkening streets, ignoring how my shimmering dress snapped in the wind, caressing 416's legs. Above me, a starkly white and bloated moon filled the sky, illuminating the world so brightly that I didn't need to use my headlights. The early March air was cool as it swept over me, but I was able to ignore it, filled with an effervescent sensation of happiness.

We arrived at the restaurant, only having to pull off to the side once and look the directions over again that Mom had given me. Although, I had been out of Seattle past a month, somehow everything seemed to have relocated itself just to play mental madness with my mind. Fortunately, both 416 and I were born with an excellent sense of navigation, and we arrived at the restaurant sooner than I had earlier anticipated.

I parked the motorcycle around back, right between Mom's bike-which Dad had used-and the old, beat up Aztek, where yellow light from the building was vomited onto the asphalt, contrasting horribly with the milky moon. Although I didn't recognize the other cars that were assembled in the same vicinity, I knew that the rest of my family had already arrived, causing me to feel rather stupid that I was so late, but I figured that it wasn't really my fault. Honestly, I had had no control over James' visit.

Smoothing my dress down before entering, and fluffing up the curls that had undoubtedly become entangled with the wind, I turned to 416.

"Nervous?" I asked as we stepped through the chromed revolving doors. A blanket of warm, compressed air wrapped itself around us, and the goosebumps on my arms immediately dissolved away.

He laughed a definite nervous laugh. "I've been through worse than this…"

"A dinner party can be both the end _and_ the start of a world war," I reminded him with a joking smile.

"Great," he groaned and lingered behind as I checked with the greeter to see where Logan and Co. were located. The host, a stocky man with curtains of skin hanging around off his jaw, smiled like a good server should, as I approached him.

"How may I help you, ma'am?"

"We're with the Cale party," I replied.

"Ah, yes," he smiled again, "Mr. Cale was just about to contact you and your friend."

"We just got a bit delayed."

"Well, then, right this way." He led us down a series of aisles, past other genteel people eating what I assumed to be caviar and brandy. "Here you go, ma'am," he told us as we rounded a corner to reveal the remainder of my family.

"Thank you," I responded with a friendly smile as the pudgy man hurried off to find someone else to greet.

Syl rose to her feet, dressed in a dazzling rose-colored gown with deep red accents, and enfolding me in a warm hug. Without the horrendous burn marks, she was absolutely gorgeous. "Glad you could make it, Alanza," she said to me, wrapping her silken arms around me in a tender embrace.

"I'm glad I could be here."

As I greeted the rest of the people-only Mom and Syl gave me hugs-I noticed that 416 was lingering off to the side, obviously hesitant about throwing himself into the midst of people that had wanted to kill him less than a few months earlier. Once I was finished with the necessary greetings, I gently grabbed him by the hand and led him over to the two empty spots at the table. We were positioned between Dad and Max; Max was sitting to the left of 416, while Dad was on my direct right.

"Good to see you," Logan smiled from across the table, where he was seated between Mom and Charlie.

"Thank you for having us," I responded. "It's good to be back."

"We were just about to eat," Krit, who was next to Victor, explained with a wave of his hand, "if you'd like, you're welcome to do the toast."

"Oh, I wouldn't know what to say…"

"C'mon, Alanza," Mom implored. "It can't be _that_ hard."

"All right," I agreed as I picked up the glass of water next to my empty plate. Everyone else had an assortment of juices and wines, along with heaped plates, while 416 and I were left with nothing. Nevertheless, I clasped the tumbler in between my fingers and began, "We all know that people change. After all," I grinned weakly, "we're all prime examples of that. We've changed from free men to slaves and prisoners, and with one daring bullet, we all were free again. Yet on the inside, we are forever changed. We're stronger, quieter, and more fearful, wondering when…and where the next attack will strike. Regardless, I want to urge you all to remember who we really are: A family. And, despite everything that's happened, the only change I fear is that we will lose our love for one another. So," I finished, raising my glass, "here's to a love that shall never change."

"Love and change," the others echoed, as we clinked glasses with one another and then sipped the liquids deliciously-with the exception of Max, who had ordered a strawberry malt and was drinking with a straw. Dad shot me an odd look as we touched cups, but I just gave him a friendly smile, which he surprisingly reciprocated. I noticed that he was wearing the black slacks and green button-down shirt that I had earlier thrown at him.

As the others began to eat, and Logan attempted to catch the attention of a waiter to take orders from 416 and I, I cleared my throat. "You guys all remember my friend here?" I asked, laying my hand on 416's shoulder, who immediately stiffened under the gesture. There came some mottled acknowledges as heads bobbed, remembering the sinister villain he had been. "Well, allow me to be the first to introduce you all to Arden."


	43. When You Can Have Dessert

After Arden and I had ordered a rather large meal-complete with two different kinds of juice for myself and a sample for Arden-I excused myself to the restroom. I hadn't thought that three glasses of juice would go through me so quickly, which embarrassed me slightly, but I had learned that when nature called, you'd better shut up and listen.

Inside the luxuriously decorated bathrooms that were on the opposite side of the building and down a secluded hallway, I examined myself in one of the brightly-lit mirrors. A piece of curly brown hair was hanging rather haphazardly off in one direction and refused to join the remaining mass, which irritated me. I slapped water on that one piece of hair, used some of the hand soap to attempt and shape the strand better, raked my fingers through the hair again, but all to no avail. Finally, absolutely exhausted of messing with a single lock of hair, I allowed it to wing out in its opposite direction. Then again, despite the fact that my hair did grow at an ungodly-like rate, it still was barely below my earlobes.

Life would never cease to amaze me. Good day, but bad hair day. Bad day, but good hair day.

As I stepped self-consciously out of the bathroom, I heard a faint hissing sound. I ignored it at first, believing it was some leaking kitchen utility since the kitchens were down the same hallway. Yet, the sound appeared to be almost human like, and just as I was about to turn back down the cooking passage to investigate, there came the cry, "Hey, Alanza!"

Rapidly, I whipped around, my heart leaping up into my throat, as I feared for the worst. Manticore was back for me. James had returned to Seattle again. A thousand images flashed through my mind, and I would have fallen, had the shock at who stood lazily against the wall not forced me to my feet.

"Hey, Alanza, what have you been up to?"

"Alec?!" I nearly screamed as I tried to keep my voice low, and I rushed towards him, holding back the urge to either pound him senseless or hug him fiercely. "You're alive?"

"Yeah, guess so."

"But, I thought that the fire and the guards and…How did you ever manage to escape?"

"Well, let me tell you this much," he said with a bored sigh, "it wasn't easy."

"So, I'm not being totally disillusioned here? You really are alive?"

He glanced down at himself, wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a loose black jacket. "Looks like it," he replied, looking back up at me.

"My God," I commented off-handedly, "what _is_ it with all you damn dead guys dying and coming back?"

"Must be the latest trend."

"Must be."

"So, what have you been up to?" he asked me.

"Nothing much. Reuniting with the family, watching James leave for Wisconsin, getting an abortion…not a whole lot."

"An abortion?"

"For that kid that Manticore knocked me up with."

"Ah," he nodded, _"that_ kid." He paused for a moment, studying me in my purple dress and it seemed as though he was going to crack a joke, then changed his mind. "You take it ok?"

"As well as could be expected, I suppose. It wasn't easy."

"Whatever happened to the father? 419…7," he snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "416…or something like that."

"Arden. Yeah, he came home with us and is living at the apartment."

"Really?" Alec mused. "I wouldn't have pictured Little Solider Boy listening to anybody."

"Alec," I warned.

"I'm just saying. He's one mean son of bitch-at least he was back when I knew him."

"That was back at Manticore. A lot's changed since then."

"So, with James out of the picture, are you and Arden 'getting it on'?" he asked with a playful grin smeared across his face.

"I can't believe you asked that!" I exclaimed, hitting him on the shoulder. "And for you information, no, we are _not_ 'getting it on'. I don't even like him like that! And I highly doubt that he even _thinks_ like that."

"Alanza," Alec said in that absolutely horrid sarcastic pleading voice of his, "a man who has been fully brainwashed to kill the enemy on sight since the day of birth does not 'just decide' to go home with the nearest person merely because he _feels_ like it." Alec cocked his head and nodded assertively, "He's got the hots for you."

"And what would you know about it? You haven't even met the guy."

"No? Well, then, maybe I should."

"Fine. Wait right here, and let me go ask Logan if you can join us for dinner."

"I'm waiting," he responded in a singsong voice as I moved down the hallway. Quickly, I asked Logan if an old friend of mine, who had unexpectedly shown up, could join us for dinner. Being the polite guy that he was, Logan agreed, while Dad shot me an inquisitive look, and I went back to retrieve Alec.

I found Alec laughing with a blond girl as they stood in the lobby together, prepared to leave. When he saw me approaching, he looked up and smiled, "Hey Alanza."

"Uh…hey, Alec," I replied with a confused tone.

The girl, who was shorter than I was, watched me with curious eyes. Her blond hair swooped around the collar of her leather jacket, and there was a hint of equine in the air, along with a trace of stronger scented leather. Sprinklings of mud were still stuck to the bottom part of her jeans, along with a few sawdust shavings.

"Well, something came up," he winked at me. "And I've got to leave."

"I see," I mused, noticing that the girl wasn't one of Alec's usual pursuits. 

"Hold on," he told his date-which was probably the reason he was at the restaurant to begin with-, who nodded, obviously relishing in Alec's beauty. He was a handsome devil, after all.

He came closer to me and met my eyes, dropping his voice down so that only I could hear. "I want you to know that I came back to see you again, Alanza. Yeah, I know that we don't have a shot together, yet, I still want you to take care of yourself. Then again," he finished with a typical grin, "if you can survive Manticore, I don't think anything can kill ya."

As he turned and began walking out the revolving doors, clasping the girl by her hand, I called out, "What about dinner?"

He flashed me an award-winning smile as he glanced over his shoulder at me. "Why have dinner, when you can have dessert?"


	44. Who...I...Am

When I returned to the table, Arden, who remained seated, pulled my chair out for me, and motioned to the food on my plate. The others were on their way to delectable desserts, some oozing in chocolate, while others were smothered in whipped cream; I still hadn't even started my main course.

"You may want to eat that," Arden remarked to the dish that slept lazily on my plate, "before it gets cold."

Yanking my chair in, which caught on the bottom of my dress, I glanced over at him. "I don't even know what it is."

"What did you order?"

"I don't remember." I shrugged, trying not to tear my dress as I removed it from under the foot of the chair. "Some Chinese dish, and," I added, leaning closer to the plate, which was drizzled in fragrant spices, "looks like there was shrimp it in to boot."

"I think it started with a 'j', perhaps."

"Perhaps, but it's not like I can understand Chinese anyhow, let alone try to read it."

Arden paused as he lifted what appeared to be a piece of grilled chicken to his mouth on a silver fork. Neatly, he dabbed at the corners of his lips with a cloth napkin, which was then placed politely back into his lap. He looked up from his meal, embarrassed, to find me watching him.

"Am I eating all right?" he questioned, since it was his first meal out in the real world.

"Perfect. And, personally," I added, leaning in close for a whisper, "I think you probably have the best table manners out of anybody here, including Mr. Cale."

As I moved away to continue eating, he grinned at me with radiant teeth. "I may not be able to do my hair, but at least I can eat properly."

"We'll eventually get the hair thing under control, so don't worry about it."

"Alanza?" he questioned, swallowed, and then pointed to the side of my plate. "What's that?"

"Huh?" I grunted, peering around the opposite side where the shrimp and rice hadn't totally engulfed my platter. Then seeing what he was indicating, I held a fortune cookie up, and answered, "This?"

"Yes…What is it?"

"It's a fortune cookie."

He gave me an odd look, crinkling his eyebrows as he did so. "A fortune_ cookie_?" he echoed, almost in disbelief.

"Yeah, when you crack it open…like this," I told him, splitting the light brown cookie into two halves, "there's a message inside that's supposed to tell your future, or give some little saying, I suppose. See? Right here," I responded, holding up the piece of paper, as I passed a half of the cookie to him. Arden examined at it, slightly confused for a moment, obviously expecting some kind of technologically advanced cookie to tell the future, instead of a humble flour and sugar one. Finally, he hesitantly popped it into his mouth, crunching down almost in happiness.

"Pretty good," he mused. Gently, then, with a flick of his index finger, he removed the crumbs from the tabletop and turned back to me. "So, what does the paper say?"

"Oh? Oh, yes, the fortune," I remarked and picked up the slip, pulling it taunt to remove the creases that had developed from being shoved inside the cookie. "It says, '_You are the shout in a fragile canyon'_. All right, whatever _that_ means," I muttered and began to crumble the paper up so that I could continue eating.

"It's rather simple, actually," Arden interjected, reaching for the predication. "Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Sure, why not?"

"When someone shouts in a canyon, especially a fragile canyon, as indicated here, usually an avalanche begins-right?"

"Right…"

"So, this simply means that you caused-or will cause-a downfall, a regression, a…backslide, if you will, in the canyon that you are standing in, which, right now is your life."

I froze. "Wait a minute. Say that again."

"Which part?"

"The part about the regression…" I told him, waving my hand with its clutched fork so frantically that Dad had to duck to avoid being jabbed in the eye.

"You caused a backslide of your life?" Arden repeated, not understanding where I was going with all of my rambling.

"Exactly!" Looking away from Arden and towards Logan, who sat on the opposite side of the table, I called out-trying not to be extremely loud in the restaurant-, "Logan!"

He looked up from whispering with Mom and smiled back. "Yes, Alanza?"

"You remember when you told me about how I can carry many pawns in my palms and how I'm one apart," I asked, at which part I saw Dad instinctively flinch, "and how one mistake will bring the ultimate backslide?"

Logan nodded hesitantly, now just as confused as Arden. "Yes, I remember…"

"Do you think I brought it?"

"Well," he began, since, being the polite gentleman that he was, Logan wouldn't say that I was the one responsible for the death of Brin, the recapturing of my family, and all of the other Manticorian crap that had happened. He nervously cleared his throat. "I think that-"

But, just as he was about to finish, the lights in the restaurant dimmed, and a voice, coming from a loud speaker, announced in a horribly lame broadcasting tone, "Ladies and gentlemen, as always, we offer some of the best meals and music in Seattle, and tonight is no exception. So, if you will turn your attention to the stage at the west side of the building, please give a round of applause for our entertainer tonight!"

I glanced around for the stage during the rain of clapping, only to find that it was right in front of me. The lights focused on the red curtains, and slowly, the heavy drapery parted to reveal a lone singer standing on the luxuriously decorated stage with black marble flooring, cradling a guitar. It took me a minute to realize that the singer was Max. Dressed in a pair of clinging black pants and a flamboyant red shirt with dangling sleeves, all of which glittered fiercely in the stark illumination, she adjusted the standing microphone, bringing it to her lips.

"Good evenin' ev'ryone, and I'm glad 'dat you could be 'ere on 'dis lovely night. For tonight's performance, I would like to ded'cate 'dis song to my dearest friend, Alanza, who has both destroyed and saved my life-and my fam'ly's-on more 'dan one occas'n. And, Alanza, thank you…for all of us." 

She began to strum a few cords on the guitar in flickering beats, before her perfected voice was expelled. I remembered how when we had first met, she had said that she was musically gifted. As she sang, I realized that those words would have been the greatest understatement, I believe, that anyone had ever told me. 

"And I'd give up forever to touch you…'Cause I know that you feel me somehow…You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't wanna go home right now.

__

Mom wrapped her arms around me and kissed the top of my forehead. My tears were wetting her bed sheets, but hers were falling on my hair like Heaven's rain. "You," I began and wiped away the tears as my throat clenched and unclenched from the heavy emotions. "You came back."

She pulled me away and held me at arm's length so that we looked straight into each other's dripping eyes. I had never been so happy in all of my life and the warm tears falling down my cheeks felt soothing to my worn skin. "Alanza," she said to me before she broke down into joyous sobs, "I never left you."

"And all I could taste is this moment…and all I can breath is your life…And sooner or later, it's over…I just don't wanna miss you tonight.

__

We were a family of three-the perfect family. A father and mother with their loving daughter, breathing together as one, which caused our hearts, the steady pulse, to form a single rhythm. And on that night, that ever immaculate night, three became one. 

"And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand…When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.

__

"When everything breaks, the world will_ know who you are."_

"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming, or the moment of truth in your lies. When everything feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive.

__

I shaved myself with harsh, repeated strokes so that I drew blood on my knees and forearms. The blood felt soothing because I was in control of my emotions, in control of what I could do to my body and what I couldn't do. I pressed my finger to the spot where the cut was on my leg and watched in fascination as the red liquid pooled around the curvature of my finger. So, this was what one of my "uncles", Ben, found so wonderful. Mom could never understand his obsession with death and killing others. Slumped against the wall of the shower, watching the blood ooze down my legs, I finally did. His killings gave him a powerful sensation. It allowed him to play God by controlling the lives of others because he couldn't lead his own life. Living in Manticore for ten years or so must have pushed him to the edge of insanity due to the fact that he was unable to even be a real person. Soldiers have no authority, and that was all, I believed, that Ben wanted. Control. It was all I really wanted at the moment too.

"And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am." 

__

"But, if you have to ask whether or not it's shattered, then it's probably not because when the world does break, letting everyone know who you really are, you'll know. You'll know because it'll be the worst pain you've ever felt in your entire life, and, if you haven't felt that amount of anguish and grief, then, luckily, your world is still intact."

Max disappeared into chords then, strumming the guitar with elegant fierceness and making the notes hum beneath her delicate fingers, before once again bursting into song, this time, radiating with powerful energy that made my heart swell both with sorrow and exuberance: "And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am. I just want you to know who I am…I just want you to know who…I…am."


	45. Disappeared Out Into the Rain

Six days later, I was happily napping on the couch, since I had spent the previous night partying with Case and Max at the local club, where we were convinced that Arden needed to learn how to "properly" live life. The shock of killing the man he had assumed to be his father, along with destroying the cause that he had served all of his life-Manticore-was slowly wearing off, resulting in a much livelier Arden. He was prone to fits of laughing, that, he said, was because it was such a wonderful feeling, of which he had been denied all his life. I had yet to laugh, and this worried him, fearing that I was depressed or suicidal. Smiling warmly, I would simply lay my hand on his arm, replying that I just…_couldn't_…laugh right then. Maybe someday, I could, but not then. 

Above all, though, Arden was a soulful person, lapsing into subdued phases where he would merely stare out the window-reminiscent of the thoughtful Case before Manticore had chipped away at his spirit-and the next minute, Arden could be dancing wildly across the room, insensitive to his surroundings. I had yet to understand him and his erratic mood swings; still, I couldn't have imagined life without him.

That evening, after a previously heavy night of partying, during my nap, I was awakened by the rustling of clothing and low mumbling. For a split second, I imagined that someone might have broken in, but that seemed highly unlikely, considering that the vigilance of the despised 415 still lurked within me. Snapping awake, I gave a rapid glance around the apartment only to observe Dad crouching by the foot of the couch, sorting through the suitcase that was given to him on his birthday.

I watched him muttering to himself as he sifted through clothing he had never worn, and when I realized that he hadn't noticed me, I cleared my throat, swinging my legs to the floor. "What are you doing, Dad?"  
He didn't appear at all startled, for he barely glanced up at me, only to rapidly avert his attention back to the suitcase by his bent knees. "Packing, 'Lanzie," he replied as if that gave every explanation that I desired. 

"Where are you going?"

Shrugging aimlessly, Dad held up a shirt that Krit and Syl had probably bought him, examining it with a bored stare. "Wherever."

"No," I insisted. "Where?"

"I don't know. Maybe California, maybe Phoenix…it doesn't really matter."

"You're leaving then, I take it."

"Yes."

I sighed, pulling my hair out of the decorative ponytail I had put it up into for last night. "Just like always…"

"You knew I couldn't stay here forever-didn't you?"

"I was hoping that you would."

"_Hope_," Dad mused, like he was trying to pick the word apart, before firmly shaking his head. "You shouldn't hope for too many things."

My hair, wrinkled with a severe ring where my ponytail holder had been, bounced around my shoulders as I slid off of the couch and down by Dad. Resting my cheek on his hard shoulder, I peered into the suitcase, which was barely half full, and I knew that Dad wasn't going to take the suitcase; he'd leave it at the apartment for someone else to take care of. 

"Perhaps," I agreed, "but that doesn't mean I'll stop hoping."

He didn't respond, and a muscle in his cheek began twitching involuntarily. 

"I want you to stay here, Dad. You have nowhere to go. No one to find. All of the people you have to worry about aren't even beyond the boundaries of the Seattle metropolis. Manticore is dead…and so…is Lydecker."

"'Lanza-" he began hesitantly.

"I know you don't like Logan and Mom together, or how Arden's moved in with us, but none of that matters," I told him, lifting my head up so that we could meet each other's eyes. "_You_ matter…really, you do. I mean, I know I haven't been the best daughter, but you really do mean a lot to me, Dad." 

"You don't understand. I can't stay here, knowing that someone may be out there, trying to capture us." He paused, tensing reflexively, before giving forth one massive sigh. "I stayed in one place for fifteen years, and I nearly went insane trying to do so."

"Then why did you stay so long to begin with?"

"For Max, mainly, because I knew that she couldn't take care of you when you were so young and needed constant monitoring. I guess I had hoped that maybe being away from Seattle for so long would make her forget about everything-and everyone-up here. She didn't forget though; she's never forgotten. I knew that she'd go back, and I didn't want to be there when she left California for her love back in Seattle. I stayed for you, too, 'Lanza, 'cause I couldn't abandon you like Max and I had been when we were children. Somebody had to show you how to fight, and Max _certainly_ wasn't going to, so I did." 

Dad leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes briefly to serve as a darkroom to develop old memories into present photos. "I remember when you first flew. You were only about four or five…maybe slightly older, I can't really recall. Yet, Max and I and you were all in the park; you were on the swings, and she was pushing you, both of you laughing. But, just as she had stepped away to tell me something, you were gone. It took us a moment to realize that there you were, up in the air, moving like a ghost through the sky, giggling childishly, and never once realizing that when-and if-you fell, you'd be killed. Yet, you didn't care. You've never cared. 

"That's the strange thing," Dad said, looking up at the cracked ceiling. "You were made to be this supreme champion, yet you've never acted like it. All you've ever fought for is normalcy-even in Manticore. And, I guess you could say that's what I want right now: normalcy. I want to go back to the way things were before Manticore broke all of us."

"Such as you leaving."

"Yes."

There was a long pause, during which we sat side by side, listening to the beginning of lapping raindrops outside. The apartment was eerily quiet, chilled by the absence of a furnace, which had neglected to turn on, and I rubbed my hands against the thick denim of my jeans, trying to warm my flesh. Dad started vacantly off into space, his fingers interlocked around the tops of his knees, and his blond hair was just a muddled mass on the top of his head. 

"I'm assuming that you're not taking the suitcase then," I remarked, more to myself than him, unnaturally breaking the accustomed silence.

He blinked, as if realizing that I had spoken, before shaking his head. "No…it's too heavy…too bulky. I'll be loaded down by it."

"That's what I thought."

At last, Dad rose to his feet, giving off some cracking noises as his bones popped against one another, hinting at the old age that he wanted to deny. He leaned over me-still sitting-and retrieved his leather jacket off the couch, which was warm from my sleeping on it. Shrugging into it, he pulled the coat tight around his body with a firm zip, and looked down at me.

"This is good-bye, then," he responded, pressing his lips against one another.

"I suppose it is." Reluctantly, I stood up, almost believing that if I stood, he would walk away and out of my life just like he had done nearly four years ago.

We stood at eye-level, looking surprisingly the similar to the people we had been when first meeting upon my entrance into Seattle, yet, we were, of course, entirely different. He wasn't just my dad anymore. Not just the man I would bicker and squabble with over meaningless things with. He had become the forgotten solider, proud and strong, and I was no longer the ignorant daughter-considering that I had, indeed, saved his life on more than one occasion.

Finally, I threw my arms around him, knowing that it would be at least another three-maybe four-years before I would see him again, and I embraced him firmly in a harsh hug. "You come back-ok?"

He laughed hoarsely in the rear of his throat. "I will," he assured me, patting me on the back of my head. As we separated, I could swear there were tears in his eyes, while I definitely was crying.

As he swung the door open, ready to leave Seattle and travel across the country once again, I whispered, "I love you, Dad." The words were emotionally induced, spoken with more feeling than I thought I was capable of portraying around him, and I doubted that he had even heard me.

Yet, as he froze, one massive hand-the one that twinkled with his fiery watch-paused on the door handle, and his head lifted to full acknowledgement. The large blue eyes that I had always known to be utterly stoic were now glassy, filled with a sheen of tears that he would forever deny. As a crooked smile attempted to live on his unwavering lips just before he disappeared out into the rain, he whispered, "I love you, too, Alanza."


	46. And I Laughed

A few weeks after Dad's departure, Charlie and Case headed back for France, where, they claimed, there was still unfinished business that needed their attention. Max, who had became virtually attached to Case since Manticore, tagged along with them, insisting that all those French classes she took in high school might as well be put to good use. Yet, no matter how fervently she smiled or joked, she was different on the inside: hardened and cautious because of the wounds Manticore had dealt her. In truth, we-the next generation-were all different. The adults, although perhaps hurt, were not emotionally and mentally scarred for the remainder of their lives; Max, Case, and I were. 

With Max and Case gone, which left Seattle just too unnaturally quiet, Arden and I took our motorcycles-even though his was technically Mom's-and headed down for California. Naturally, he rode without his helmet, and he would relish in gunning the engine merely to laugh right along with the bike. When the highways became dark and empty, hissing with only the glittering of stars, Arden and I would whip down the roads at speeds unattainable to the normal human. He loved glancing over at me, baring his white teeth in the night as his bike lurched ahead of mine, while I adored running down the road on my back tire-a feat he had yet to master. All in all, we flirted with disaster, and neither one of us truly cared, because we had already died once and didn't fear doing so once again.

When we arrived back in California, we went to my old apartment, which had continued to be in fairly good condition. The posters were still smeared on my bedroom walls, and the carpet was the ugly mossy shade it always had been. Pictures of forgotten days back at high school showing me laughing with girls whose names I could barely remember, or posing during a special award ceremony, presently collected dust on my nightstand next to the clock, which had once been illuminated with bright red numbers, and was now dead in the time that I had been gone. 

Slouching in the doorway, Arden, who was wearing a loose fitting pair of jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt, observed me with careless ease as I discovered an old address book inside a musty dresser drawer. Flipping through the dog-eared pages, I called up some the people that used to be my best friends, only to discover the conversation we shared was awkward and jolted. Hanging up with a hesitant, "Nice talking to you", I realized that, despite what I had earlier assumed, the apartment was no more my home than California was my life.

Arden and I briefly separated at that point, with me insisting that I needed to go down to the beach alone. After a moment of persuading him, he took the opportunity to annoy the fellow neighbors by screeching his bike up and down the streets. His skills on the motorcycle were increasing with rapid speed, and it wouldn't be long before he was better than I was. 

Gently, I led my bike in a smooth coast down the beach, where, after cutting the purring engine, I gazed out over the blackening waters as the sun sank slowly in the distance, vainly trying to latch onto some precious moments of daylight before disappearing into darkness. Removing my helmet, I swung one leg over the seat of my bike and walked down the waterfront, squinting from the occasional moments when the sun would clumsily catch a ripple and blind me. 

In the chaotic year that I had been gone, the water was glistening, no longer matted by the discolored fungus and refuse that had once littered the surface, and the water's clarity amazed me. Indeed, the government had finally succeeded in cleaning the bay that had been known to me only as an aquatic compost pile. I guessed that something could go right, after all.

Slowly, I eased myself down onto the dark moist sand, ignoring how it instantly clung to my pants and seeped through my clothing, wetting my skin beneath the denim. Splaying my fingers out, I ran my hands against the granules, feeling how the tiny crystals would roll against the smooth flesh, only to be deposited right back into the valleys I had created. After a period of merely examining the surroundings that seemed to have radically changed in one year's time, I pulled my knees to my chest, curled my arms around myself, and stared out at the never-ending water, which glistened like a thousand rubies beneath the setting sun.

I remembered how Mom would tell me in ages past that we were going to Seattle to see Logan-although, at the time, I was unaware of what she was talking about. How she would point across the water, bending down to whisper in my ear, "You see that?" Naturally, I wouldn't see what she was talking about, and would merely shake my little confused head, disliking how she was superior in her intelligence and vision. Playfully, Mom would ruffle my hair and grin, telling me that someday we were going to go to that far-off place because somebody lived there. Being the type of person I was at that time, I was irritated that she wouldn't tell me everything, but looking back, I realized that she was only trying to protect me from the inevitable monsters.

Before arriving in Seattle at the age of eighteen, I was stupid, naïve, and prone to believing that people could easily be grouped into simplistic categories. A murderer and liar had been recently freed from jail with a long ponytail and grimy teeth; not the suave man that you had met at the bar and charmed you over for months at a time with dashing smiles and warm kisses. Children, no matter what age, were supposed to be pure and innocent, never faltering in their goal to please; not hungry little demons who relished in stripping the emotional flesh of those that dared to cross them. And, transgenics were, of course, the horrific monsters that came up from the basement to drink your blood and tear your eyes out; not the girl and boy down the street that quickly became your best friends for life. 

One little backslide had changed all those misconceptions into an austere reality. 

Mom had once told me-when I was very young and hardly able to understand human words-that Brin had told her that she, Mom, had escaped the backslide. Mom, though, didn't think so, believing that none of us ever would, because we are our own backslide. Simply put: we bring our own victories and our downfalls, and, obviously, we can never escape ourselves.

Mom was right; we couldn't escape ourselves-or the backslide that was doomed to follow us. So, in a way, I never caused the backslide of my family's life because such a disaster was destined to happen from the minute I was born. After all, there was no way to fight such an abominable force as a backslide that murdered, lied, and deceived an entire family for over twenty years. To be disgustingly cliched: I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Standing up, I moved down to the water just to touch it with my bare hands one last time before leaving for Seattle. In the distance, I could hear Arden gunning his engine, most likely impatient with my feeble nostalgia; he never would force me to leave, though. As I crouched down, I noticed a glass container that was bobbing a few feet away from me, trapped within a pool of water that had gathered inside a valley of sculpted sand. Scuttling closer, I curiously picked up the jar, gently shaking the water off, and brought it to eye level as I simultaneously rose to my feet. 

The container was a jam jar. An empty strawberry jam jar. All at once, with an immense and unexpected flood of comprehension, I realized that-despite Mom's conviction-we had escaped the backslide. We had escaped it, after all. 

As the new understanding overflowed me, I began to twirl, giddy and foolish. Flinging my arms back, I clasped the jar between my fingers as the water whipped out in spirals around my body. Tears that arose from the greatest blissfulness I had ever known sprang forth, dashing down my face and splattering onto the shirt I wore. My hair flew in the wind as I spun, faster and faster, never daring to stop. All of the effervescent energy bubbled up inside of me, craving to burst forth. Finally, in one radiant and dazzling moment, the volatility erupted out of my whirling body, bringing with it a long forgotten sensation.

And I laughed.

The End


End file.
